Return From the Event Horizon
by Ivylore
Summary: What if Anakin Skywalker died along with Mace Windu in Palpatine's chamber that night? What if Luke never made it to his relatives on Tatooine, and Leia was never sent to Alderaan? Warning: This fic deals with extremely mature themes.
1. Chapter 1

**Portion in italics taken from Matthew Stover's _Revenge of the Sith_.**

_Prelude  
_

* * *

_Anakin looked from the dead hand on the ledge to the living once above him, and what he saw there chocked him like an invisible fist crushing his throat. _

_The hand on his shoulder was human. _

_The face… wasn't. _

_The eyes were cold and feral yellow, and they gleamed like those of a predator lurking beyond a fringe of firelight; the bone around those feral eyes had swollen and melted and flowed like durasteel spilled from a fusion smelter, and the flesh that blanketed it had gone corpse-gray and coarse as rotten synthplast. _

_Stunned with horror, stunned with revulsion, Anakin could only star at the creature. At the shadow. _

_Looking into the face of the darkness, he saw his future. _

_"Now come inside," the darkness said. _

_After a moment, he did. _

And paused.

At the fringes of his conscious was a voice from his dreams. _No, Anakin, no! _

"Qui-Gon?" Anakin whispered, taking a step back. He was in shock. He wasn't thinking straight, couldn't make sense of what had just happened. He glanced again toward the window ledge where seconds before Mace Windu had tumbled to his death. Why hadn't he stopped him? Helped him?

_There will never be balance_, the voice said. _Not this way…_

"Anakin," said the darkness, insistent now.

Anakin couldn't bring himself to respond. The galaxy felt as though it had been rent at the seams. The force itself seemed to shriek in outrage. There was no balance. There was only the darkness, stretching like a black hole, swallowing the fabric of space and time and everything he had ever known so that it all ceased to exist. The pull was inescapable.

Soon he would pass the event horizon and be lost forever.

"_Now_ Anakin."

But he had not reached the event horizon yet. It was not too late to fight.

"No." He barely recognized his own voice, distorted. "_No_!"

"As you wish," Palpatine said.

The fallen Jedi Master's lightsaber sprang from his dead hand and pierced Anakin's heart with the intake of his last breath. Anakin Skywalker fell backwards off the window ledge with one thought, one memory, and one dream of all that could have been.

_Padmé_.


	2. Chapter 2

_One_

She didn't have the most beautiful voice on Coruscant, but it was sultry, mournful, and honest and Han Solo genuinely enjoyed that. He could buy anything these days, but he couldn't buy honesty and in his business, he sure as hell couldn't get it free. When the song ended, he had the bartender send her a glass of the finest T'iil-T'iil wine and an invitation to his table.

She came and slid into the high-backed chair, arranging her shimmersilk skirts that were the colour of Ithorian saffron so that only one knee was bare. Her carefully shaped eyebrows arched gently and her lips were lightly painted with transparent gloss. She wore white Jade roses tucked into the loose pile of hair and the heady floral scent trailed her.

"Captain Solo," she said.

No one had called him 'captain' in a long time. "Does my reputation precede me?"

"Which one?"

He wondered if they call him a womanizer or a tycoon

She took a cautious sip of her wine and sat just close enough that her right thigh almost grazed his. "You're the Solo in _Calrissian-Solo Munitions Inc_."

"We're one and the same."

"Then I should warn you that I'm terribly difficult," she declared.

"So am I."

"I've actually been called 'stubborn' in thirty languages."

"I've been called 'offensive' in fifty."

"I have nothing to my name."

"I own more than you can imagine."

"I hope you're prepared to give it all up," she said plainly. "People close to me tend to lose more than they bargained for."

"I'll take my chances." Han dropped his voice a notch so that patrons at nearby tables couldn't hear them. "What about you?"

"Me?" With the countenance of royalty, she turned and eyed the small corner stage, chin held high. "I have no need to take chances. I merely maintain the illusion of a life. They prefer that."

He wasn't not sure who 'they' was, but the dare -or _challenge_ - was out in the open and he couldn't resist a challenge. "Let's add to the illusion then," he coaxed. "Have dinner with me."

"Here?" She gazed past the hanging strips of hylaian marsh bamboo toward the restaurant side of the _Manarai_. The _Manarai_ was one of Coruscant's finest restaurants, built into the wall of the Umate, the highest peak of the Manarai Mountain. Unfortunately, it was co-owned by Prince Xizor, and at the moment, Prince Xizor and his entourage were in the process of evicting several customers from his favourite table so that they did not have to wait. "This may be my place of employment," she said, "But often I find the clientele here rather coarse."

"Hey." Han winked. "_I_ was planning to have dinner in there."

"Exactly my point."

Amused, Han grinned. He didn't care for the Falleen either. He and Lando had been doing their utmost to avoid dealings that linked them with Xizor's Black Sun criminal syndicate. "I happen to own a suite upstairs," he said, pretending to sound pragmatic.

"Yes, I know." She flirted back carelessly, shifted the bare knee purposely again. "But you see, we've already established that your reputation precedes you?"

"Then I know a decent dive seventeen levels down."

"No thank you." She leaned in to him, voice low and husky. "Oh, and for the record, I prefer Alderaanian or Andoan ale." With that, she abandoned the expensive drink, barely touched, on his table.

"She's trouble," Lando Calrissian said, slipping back into his seat.

"I think I lost that round," Han said idly. "Do you know her?"

"I know_ of_ her. Her name is Leia Skywalker and she's a very classy player if you catch my drift."

"She goes for credits?"

"No. Not the kind you put in a bank." Lando snipped the end off a cigarro made of rolled rashallo leaves and dropped it in the table's snuff pot. "She runs in circles too close to the Emperor for my tastes."

"She turned you down, huh?"

"I've _never_ been able to resist trouble." Lando lit the end of his cigar and the air filled with the spicy-sweet scent of rashallo. "Especially when it's that beautiful."

"What happened to Miliang? Is he meeting us for dinner or not?"

"Oh that. Cancelled. Said his wife was in a minor skyline accident today." Lando pointed to the glass of T'iil-T'iil wine. "Did she leave it?"

"Drink it."

"I cancelled our table and rescheduled for later next week."

Han rolled his eyes. "Great."

"I hope you're going to be more charming than that."

"Oh, I can be charming. My charming side is off-duty."

"He_ loves_ you, though for the life of me, I don't know why." Lando savoured a long draught of wine. "Tell him a few spine-tingling smuggling stories and he'll be signing an exclusivity contract with us before the main course arrives."

"It's never that easy."

"Sure it is."

"No it isn't."

"See, I'm an eternal optimist and you're so cynical you could sour blue milk by scowling

at it. This is why we're good business partners." Lando jerked a thumb toward the stage.

"What about her?"

Leia Skywalker was in the midst of an animated conversation with the slitherhorn player. She faced away from them and Han absorbed the view appreciatively. The back of her saffron-red gown was cutaway to the waist and her pale skin glowed in the lounge's ambient lighting. "What about her?" he asked.

"You should send her an ale." Lando took a deep breath and gulped down another few swallows of wine. "Otherwise you're going to be sitting here all alone."

"Where are you going?"

"To meet Shasheva at the Opera House."

"Last minute?"

Lando shrugged helplessly. "What can I say? She owns a box." He patted him on the back. "Have a good night, my friend. Put that charming side of yours to practice."

Han waited until Leia had sung her last set of the evening before he followed his partner's unsolicited advice. As a rule, he tried not to take any advice Lando Calrissian doled out that didn't have to do with investments, but it wasn't in his nature to give up on a woman so easily.

This time, Leia slid into Lando's empty chair with air of purpose. "Do you have a ship?" she asked.

"Yes."

"_More_ than one?"

Han shrugged. "Yes."

"_My_. Pardon me if I'm mistaken, but unless you've cloned yourself, you can only fly one at a time. Unless of course," she intoned, "You can't fly them and merely hire out pilots."

"Oh, I can fly them, Sweetheart," he said.

"Then tell me." She cupped her chin in the heel of her hand and peered at him inquiringly. "What does traveling at lightspeed feel like?"

"It's like the universe is yours for the taking." No matter how precise a pilot you were, there was always that risk that you didn't know where you were going to exit from hyperspace. You could hit a gravity well or black hole or fly yourself through the heart of a sun. He expected her to mock him, but instead her face grew intensely inquisitive.

She peered at him curiously. "Flying is your passion then?"

It wasn't how he would put it. It was an overly emotional way to put it, but he said, "You could call it that."

"Sounds like you're in the wrong business."

"Probably."

"Maybe next week," she suggested coolly, sipping from the beer tumbler now that the foam had settled. "We can arrange a trade."

"What kind of trade?"

"It so happens that I need someone to teach me how to pilot a starship."

"Well, it's not like learning how to fly a hovercraft," he insisted. "First you need to know all the technical stuff. Know how to calculate jumps, everyday physics, astrophysics, basic system maintenance and upkeep."

"I know all that."

Han started shaking his head. Maybe she was younger than he thought – a kid with delusions of grandeur and a dead serious expression.

She clinked her glass down so hard the table rattled. "Test me," she demanded.

"On what?"

"Anything."

"_Ahh_…" Han thought for a moment, and then asked, "What's the function of a null quantum field generator?"

"It stabilizes the vessel and keeps it from prematurely emerging from hyperspace. Otherwise most spacecraft would drop out of hyperspace whenever a piece of debris came within ten metres of it." She leaned in. "That's textbook. _That's_ first year astrophysics. You're mocking me."

"I'm not mocking you."

"But _anyone_ could answer that."

"Fine. What do you need if you want to modify the hyperdrive on a YT-series freighter

from a Class 2 to a Class 0.5?"

"Besides a death-wish?"

"That's never what I called it."

"A way to keep your ship from falling apart?" It wasn't a question so much as an exclamation.

"You're not thinking off your feet."

"Fine." Leia pursed her lips in concentration. "Presuming you've overcome the small but annoying problem of your ship's structural integrity being incapable of withstanding the initial jump, you need larger thruster ports. You also need to recalibrate the alluvial dampers and override them to alter the thrust output of ion particles from the hyperdrive generator. And if you're going to that, you need to make sure you've rebalanced the motivator so that your navigational system doesn't drop you in the middle of traffic along the Permelian Trade Route." She furrowed her brow and focused on the table's milk-stone marble surface. "You… well you'd also require a more powerful acceleration compensator and need to reinforce the containment shielding to prevent a radiation leak. And upgrade the heating shunts." She looked up. "And lastly, I suppose if you plan on flying anywhere near a civilized system where her transponder can be read, you've got to crack into your master system and alter the security configurations."

Han shrugged and refused to let on that she'd impressed him. "You can learn a hell of a lot from datareaders."

"I don't think there's a regulator or an acceleration compensator that can protect a ship as small as the YT-series. How did you do it?" She widened her eyes with keen understanding. "You managed it, didn't you?"

"If you increase your power by about fifty percent and add supplementary shift shields you can make 0.5 and come out of hyper in perfect shape." Here Han stopped himself. As a matter of personal habit, he didn't talk about the _Millennium__Falcon_. Or Chewbacca. The past was meaningless and their memories were better off left in the Corporate Sector with their remains. Still, this was the most interesting conversation he'd had with a woman in years. "You really want to learn how to fly?"

"Yes."

"What exactly are we trading for?"

The expression on the rest of her face was strictly innocent. "Dinner."

He smiled in a way that he knew made him look both cocky and charming. "Dinner?"

"Yes, dinner."

Crooked beneath the table on the plush seat between them, resting face-up, lay her hand. The invitation was discreet and invisible to the overhead holocameras. Han wondered if by 'dinner' she meant 'sex,' and reached down and ran his index finger across the crease of her lifeline. "Deal."


	3. Chapter 3

**2**

He was her protector and her only living family. When they were young, his eyes had been bluer than the skies of Chandrila and his hair the white-blonde of a mother's wistful memory. Now, his eyes were steel grey and his hair the colour of hallway shadows. He was master at hiding. He hid his strength. He hid his feelings. He acted as though he hid her, but she knew he couldn't, knew that they watched her and it didn't matter for he trusted no one, not even her. His lips had once been warm on her cheek and now they felt like ice on her mouth.

He showed up in the middle of the night and she could feel the surge of potency within him before he even arrived. It woke her, throbbing deep inside her chest as though it belonged to her. He had a keycard, but she still slipped on a robe and met him at the door.

He was a real man are despite his slight-ness and the subtle sense of power he exuded was tangible to both force-users and the force-blind. It buzzed like an incessant pulse of solar energy, vibrant and static. Tonight he was drunk, but not on spice, alcohol, or anything chemical that she could name. Adrenaline. Power, perhaps. A recent victory. A death.

She knew better than to inquire, so she embraced him and reminded herself that she must never think of betraying him in his presence. Never.

"How are you?" he asked.

"I'm well enough."

"I woke you." He picked up her arm and lightly ran his fingertips over the tender skin between her elbow and wrist. "Were you dreaming?"

"Some."

"About what?"

"The night Iolu died." She pulled away and went to sit on the conform lounge. He was in a good mood. She should take advantage of it, _use_ it. "May I ask you something?"

"You can ask me anything you like," he said, settling into the couch beside her.

They both knew it wasn't true.

"Have you learned anything about who might have killed him?" she asked.

The air in her living room quietly compressed. "You know I haven't."

Leia gazed toward the large window beyond which several skylanes passed. She broached the next question carefully. "Maybe you're afraid to tell me the truth, of how I'd react?"

"I swore I would never hurt you," he said.

_Again_ is what he meant.

"I don't share my suspicions with you because it wouldn't do any good. You would fret and obsess and make yourself miserable. If I knew anything substantive, you know I wouldn't hide that from you. Haven't we been through this before?" he insisted. "When I got back from Yinchorr you were distraught. Do you think I would have wished that purposely on you?"

"No." In her mind, that year was fuzzy, like a long, drugged sleep brought on by an overdose of sweetblossom. For all his faults, for all he hid from her, she sensed that he was being mostly truthful. "What would have happened when you came back?" She looked at him. "You never say?"

"Nothing." His hands were cool against her neck, playing with the edge of her robe, sliding it from one shoulder. "I would have done _nothing_." His voice softened. "It was the dream. Or are you troubled about something more?"

She shook her head. "That was it."

Luke's eyes shifted like the undertow beneath the surface of the ocean, toward her bedroom, and Leia didn't look away. She'd learned that if she pretended in the beginning, eventually it felt real and he couldn't tell the difference. And if she hated herself in the morning, it wouldn't be the first time.

When they were little children, they had discovered that they could communicate in secret and shut out all adults. They'd invented imaginary homes on distant planets, with normal, _real_ parents, where they could swim and have felinxes and flying aiwhas as pets and eat sugar-covered sunfruit andPyollian cake. Their twin silence disturbed their caregivers at the 'home' so greatly (not _disturbed_, Leia recognised when her childhood is over, but _alerted _them) that the Emperor was summoned and after that came a battery of tests. Even then, Luke had been eager to please everyone, including the Emperor; he was always like that. Leia had been the stubborn and suspicious twin; she'd failed tests on purpose that she could easily have aced.

This was when they were five, and shortly afterward Luke had been taken away.

She sensed that he was in the mood to be gentle. "All right," she said, knowing they were the last words she would speak until tomorrow.


	4. Chapter 4

**3**

She wore a skin-tight flight suit to her first flying lesson. It was black with a double band of scarlet piping running up the outside of her legs, piping that ran straight up her sides and into the vee of her armpits. The lines were magnetic, carving the female curves of her body from the dark fabric like an artist's paintbrush or the tertiary feathers of a kitehawk. A single, heavy loop of hair tumbled down her back and when security swiped her identity tag, the name that flashed on the console was 'Lusa Durasha.'

If Han Solo had made a mistake agreeing to this, he wasn't thinking about it, because he couldn't keep his eyes off her hips as they crossed the skyhook to his private landing bay.

Although he owned a luxurious _Marketta_-class shuttle and a beautiful Mon Calamari _DeepWater_-class freighter, Leia was hungrily eyeing his pair of heavily converted Corellian light-freighters.

"You like Corellian ships?" he asked.

"Yes." She set her palm on the silver hull of the sleek YT-2400. "How about this one?"

"No one flies that but me."

"Why?"

"It's special."

He took her by the elbow and guided her over to the less impressive _Spirit of Nyenthi'Oris, _an oldYT-1000 model with a top-mounted cockpit. It would be easier to learn on, easier to gauge docking and manoeuvring as the cockpit was equidistant from the port and starboard sides. He lowered the hatch and showed her around on board before leading her to the cockpit.

"Have you ever done a pre-flight check?"

She shook her head.

"All right, I'll talk you through it." He began switching on the various systems and performed the check aloud, step by step.

By the time the engines had warmed up, the knees of her bodysuit were damp with sweat from her palms.

He activated the repulsors and nudged the throttle forward just enough so that the ship began moving. "Ready to fly her off the skyhook?"

"Shouldn't I watch you first?"

"It's like sex," he said. "The only way you learn is by _doing_."

"I see." She promptly reached for the controls, pulled the yoke lightly to the right, and the ship began heading directly for the control tower. She yanked the yoke to the left and overcompensated. Two breaths later, the portside angled precariously close to a large pleasure cruiser parked in the adjoining bay. "_Han_," she said, sounding panicked.

It was the first time she'd said his first name and he loved the sound of it. "Uh huh."

"Han, bad sex won't rupture a hull."

"I suppose you have a point," he drawled, reaching for the controls. "How about you co-pilot until after we make our jump."

"We're jumping?"

"Don't worry."

"I'm not worried," she returned briskly. "But don't you need clearance?"

"I have standing clearance." He called up the schematics on the navicomputer. "I happen to know a little debris field that's about a ten-minute jump from here. It's a great place to practice manoeuvres and there's no local traffic."

When they'd made the jump to lightspeed, he turned and found her staring out through the transparisteel with rapturous expression on her face. The starlight was soft on her skin, like the warm volcanic sand on the beaches of Northern Corellia after the high-noon sun had passed.

"What do you think?"

"It's beautiful."

Han thought about the way she'd awkwardly grabbed for the controls. "You've never even flown on sims before, have you?" he asked.

She dragged her gaze away from viewport and her eyes flickered defiantly, as though that was an accusation. "You said the only way you learn is by _doing_."

"Well, it does help if you have an idea of _what_ you're supposed to be doing."

"I couldn't get access to the piloting sims at the university," she admitted reluctantly.

"Why?"

She shrugged, and then said conversationally. "Your friend with the cape said you were married."

"Used to be. Marriage didn't suit me."

"The monogamy?"

"The nagging." Han eyed her curiously. "You?"

"I feel the same way about questions that you do about nagging." Uneasily, she fidgeted with her gloves, tugging on the tips to loosen them. "Shouldn't you be teaching me something useful… like what all of these sensors stand for or how to bring a ship out of hyper?"

"Yeah," he said slowly. They would continue this discussion later. "Rule number one, gloves." He reached into the bag beside him. "Rule number two; don't _yank _on anything. It's not like flying an airspeeder."

That was the beginning of her first lesson. After an hour flying around the debris field, she'd begun to develop a feel for the particular steering habits of the _Spirit of Nyenthi'Oris_. Although she didn't recognize all the controls and sensors on the heads-up-display and central console, once he'd named or pointed out any specific one, she could identify its function. She asked intelligent questions and made mental notes, and overall, she showed promising instincts, but she still had a long way to go. She would need to learn how to do low atmospheric flying, evasive flying, trouble-shooting, and how to react to sensor information quickly.

She also smelled good and she didn't shy away when he set his hands over hers and gave her pointers.

Once they had entered hyperspace for the return to Coruscant, he folded his hands behind his neck as though he had all the time in the world. "So, is Leia Skywalker the_ singer _and Lusa Durasha her _alter-ego_ with a thing for astrophysics and ships?"

"I asked you to teach me how to fly, not ask questions."

"I might be willing to teach a 'friend' how to fly but I want elaboration on the 'no questions' part. Are you in some kind of trouble?"

"Define 'trouble.'"

"If you want to fly again, with me," he threatened, "Then I suggest you start talking. If you don't, go ahead and keep your lips sealed."

"Well then, if you're going to put it like that. Officially..." She took a deep breath and peeled off her flight gloves, setting them delicately one by one on the console boards. "_Officially_, I'm a ward of the Emperor."

"And…" he prompted.

"I don't wish to remain as his ward."

That explained the forged identity chip. "So, let me guess. Your grand plan involves learning how to fly, getting your hands on a ship and taking off for some distant part of the galaxy where the Empire can never find you."

"You're warm."

"What do you plan on doing for a living?"

"I trained in theatre," she said. "And if I can fly, I can work as a pilot."

Han laughed. "It's a lot tougher to make a living as a pilot than you think if you're not registered with the Empire. That's _if_ you can get enough credits together to buy your own ship. How much are you making singing part-time at the Manarai?" Han stifled his grin upon seeing the slight flare of her nostrils. "It's not enough for a ship, Sweetheart. And it must not be enough for flight lessons, or you'd already have your license."

"I suppose it's easy for you to look down on everyone who isn't worth a billion credits."

"I haven't always had money," he said. "Don't assume you know everything about me."

She folded her arms over her chest, cheeks flushed with indignant anger. "The way you've just assumed you know everything about me."

"Listen. It would be a crime to let you think that there's a nice, cushy world where making a new life for yourself will be simple."

"I don't recall stating that I expected it to be easy or simple," she replied crisply.

"Well _I've_ been out there. It's rough." He locked his jaw. A woman flying alone into a starport on a backwater tradeworld would also attract unwanted attention. "You're a beautifulwoman. You'll age twenty years in five doing hard labour on Aduba-3 or Excarga, wind up working for a pleasure house in a spaceport town. You'd be better off hopping on the next passenger freighter for Alderaan or Duros and finding real entertainment in a civilized city."

"Alderaan and Duros aren't far enough away."

"From what?"

"Here."

"What's here?"

She shifted her shoulder noncommittally. "I'd prefer a world that has no Imperial ties or checkpoints."

Han rubbed his chin and checked the time. They had five minutes before they arrived back at Coruscant. "Like I said, we're close to few planets where you can hop on a passenger freighter. I'd be willing to-"

"No." She grit her teeth, and her face filled with a determinationso desperate that she inclined her head as if to hide it from him, as though he'd hit a raw, exposed nerve. "It will only work if I have my own ship."

There was no sense arguing with her. Besides, the need to have that freedom was a drive that Han understood all too well, one that had absorbed him during his formative years and he would have thrown a punch at anyone who told him differently. He flicked his eyes toward the ceiling. Reflected above, he could see the crown of her head, rigidly tense. Her hands rested on her knees and she was twisting her fingers together. "All right," Han replied slowly, coming to a decision. "If you're serious about this you should learn how to fire a blaster. You're going to need a few extra sets of I.D tags. At least two sets. The best forgeries you can get."

"Thank you." She looked directly at him and gratitude caused the tension to seep from her body. "I've heard rumours about you. That you know about this sort of thing – how to pull it off."

"What else did you hear?"

"You worked as a smuggler until about six years ago, when you showed up on Coruscant and promptly became involved in one of the largest takeovers in the history of Imperial City."

"All true." Han shrugged, even as the snug lines of her bodysuit caught his eye again. Shortly after the takeover, he had negotiated for exclusive weaponry deals with both the Corellian Pirate's Association and the Smuggler's Guild. Since then, he had never looked back . "Mind my asking why would you be a ward of the Emperor in the first place?"

"I've said too much already." She leaned forward and rested her elbows on her knees, voice lowering, as though they were back in the _Manarai _and she didn't want anyone to eavesdrop. "I know that you're a man of your word." The cool, collected woman from the nightclub was back. "Perhaps we should discuss what you want in return?"

"Do you flirt with everyone to get what you want?"

"No. You're special. Like your other ship." She smiled. "What is it called again?"

"I didn't say." After a moment, he added, "_The __Rrakktorr's Revenge._"

"Which means what?"

"The 'rrakktorr' is the inner strength and fire of the male Wookiee."

She let her eyes slowly wander over him from his boots all the way up to his forehead. "You're far too handsome to be calling yourself a Wookiee." She furrowed her brow. "I can only assume you must have named her in honour of someone. Or the memory of someone."

"Three points for you, Sweetheart."

"Did you achieve your revenge?"

"It's a state of mind, not a single act." Had it been six years, no seven, since his life had deteriorated and... He had to shake his head, his chest felt like it had been wrapped in a vice. "My ex-wife asked too many questions too." He smiled charmingly and set his elbow on the arm rest. "Let's get back to our deal."

"Of course." She reached up, unbound the looped knot of hair, and let it loose over her shoulders. "Where were we?"

Han swallowed, trying so hard not to stretch his hand across the narrow space that divided the pilot and co-pilot's seats. She would look beautiful on the cockpit deckplates or on the leather couches in the main hold or his bed back on Coruscant, any place he could imagine with the slinky bodysuit stripped away, but right at that moment, they weren't playing on equal ground and he couldn't bring himself to take advantage of that. If he'd learned anything over the years at _Calrissian-Solo Munitions Inc_., it was that everyone should walk away from the table believing the deal was fair.

This wasn't.

"I thought you said I could buy you dinner," he said cheerfully, reaching for the satchel beneath the pilot's chair. "It's probably all cold and soggy, but I figured you wouldn't mind."

"No." She blinked at him and a surprised smile formed. "I mean, that would be great."


	5. Chapter 5

**4**

Roganda Ismaren was not quite a friend and not quite an enemy and this was not quite a social visit.

Regardless, Leia allowed her to link her arm through hers. They'd taken Roganda's private airspeeder to the subterranean levels, where the alien species had been pushed over the last two decades. Thousands of atmospheric dampeners stripped excess carbon dioxide from Coruscant's atmosphere, but like everything on Coruscant, higher was better. The subterranean air was rank and stale but the finest clothing couldn't be purchases in the human quarters. In the ethnic, multi-species quarters, the black market thrived; fine cloth was imported cheaply and laboriously hand-stitched at local fashion houses. Prices were still high, at least by Leia's standards, but they weren't as exorbitantly expensive as prices on the upper levels, where stores marketed fashionable clothing that was 'untouched by non-human hands'.

They looked at gowns made of shimmersilk, ottegan silk and taffeta. Stores crammed row upon row of the finest silks and taffetas, sei-weave and linens into their narrow spaces. Before long, Roganda was spending thousands of the emperor's pocket credits.

"At least down here they don't cater to that dreadful Imperial chic that's so popular these days," Roganda exclaimed. Everything about Roganda Ismaren was a study in stark contrasts. She had a child's breathy voice and a woman's body; she had sharp angled brows and gently curving cheekbones, her skin was a palette of pale creams against the jet-black of her hair. "Grey, grey, and more grey." She seized Leia's arm. "Let me buy you something."

"I don't need anything."

"For the club then?"

Leia shook her head but Roganda insisted, because it _wasn't _actually her credits. She held up a skirt of see-through Zoosha fabric. "Does this remind you of anything?"

"No."

"What about the night you cut your wrist and almost died."

"It was an accident," Leia said.

Roganda continued digging through the racks of gowns. "I have news."

Leia didn't want to ask. In seven hours, she would be having her fourth flying lesson with Han Solo. She was imagining the way Coruscant looked from space, a planet of dazzling lights, like gemstones and glass broken up together, and she did that until she was verging on being rude. "What is it?"

"I'm three months pregnant."

"_Oh_." Leia quelled her gut reaction, her disgust (she knew very well _who_ the father was), before it could surface. "Congratulations. That's wonderful."

Roganda's eyes manifested a cunning joy. "_He's_ not the father," she whispered, as though she knew what Leia had been thinking. "It's Sarcev Quest. Now I've told you a secret." She said it as though Leia too, should tell her a secret. When Leia wouldn't, she selected an amber gown and held it up against Leia's frame. "Luke told me it wasn't an accident."

"He was wrong." Leia wondered when it was that she managed to speak with Luke, and what else went on between them. "This isn't my colour."

"How about this one?" Roganda held up a pleated off-the-shoulder dress of cyrene silk that was sheer enough to be an under-dress. It was iridescent green, and shimmered like the wings of Jabiimi dragonflies in sunlight.

"It's lovely," Leia admitted.

"Try it on." Roganda ushered her into a dressing room. As Leia slipped the dress over her head, Roganda said, "I thought you were dead when we found you. There was so much blood. I nearly fainted. Were you singing the night before last?"

"No."

"I commed you twice and you never answered."

"You should have left a message. I must have switched it off by accident." Leia was grateful for the privacy of the dressing room. She would have to be more careful when she flew, plan her excuses ahead of time. Once they reached the atmosphere, she was out of range. Predictably, Roganda was keeping tabs at the bequest of Palpatine.

Leia exited the dressing room and smoothed the gown over her hips. The heat-set pleats hugged her body. "What do you think?"

"We _have_ to take it." Roganda fussed with her hair. "You should wear it up."

A short time later, they were outside waiting for the airspeeder to pick them up. Roganda began complaining about the air quality, and for once, Leia felt her grumbling was warranted. Beside the dress shop was a fortunetellers' stand. It advertised both tea and purified air.

Leia pointed. "Let's go in and wait."

"No." Roganda grabbed her arm. Her fingers pinched. "She's probably a mind-witch."

"Hardly."

"She's a screamer."

"She's an Ayrou," Leia corrected. "She can tell you if it's a boy or a girl."

"A med-droid can do that."

"Consider it a test; see if she's any good."

"Hm." The notion intrigued Roganda. "All right."

The fortuneteller's stand was tiny and cluttered; bolts of imported fabric were propped up against the walls, and more, unrolled fabric hung from the ceiling and covered the windows. Leia purchased two bottles of water and settled Roganda down at the tiny center table. Then she set several credit chips in the coffer.

The fortune-teller was descended from an avian species. Her face was bony and her cheekbones jutted back and out where a human's ears would be located. A mane of black-violet feathers tumbled over her shoulders, the feathers carefully arranged fan-style. She asked them both to briefly hold her seeing stone.

"What do you seek?" The Ayrou's high-pitched voice warbled like sandpaper.

Leia nudged Roganda gently with her elbow. "Ask."

"Am I to bear a son or a daughter?"

"A son." The Ayrou's feathers shivered. "There is trouble ahead of you."

"What?" Roganda gasped.

"Your labour will be long and difficult. You will scream for something to ease your pain and it shall be denied you, even as your flesh tears." The Ayrou leaned forward. "My dear, he knows. The birth shall be your punishment."

Roganda's face was pale and she was quivering like a young whisperkit. Leia vaulted to her feet angrily. "That's enough. We're ready to go."

"What about your question, my dear."

Leia's jaw locked. "I don't have one."

"You dropped credits in the coffer. An answer awaits you."

"Give me the credits back."

"It's too late. The answer is already here." She preened her fan of feathers with talon-like hands. "_Not when you ask him to_," she warbled. "_Not when you ask him to." _

In the airspeeder, Leia put her arm around a sobbing Roganda, feeling poignantly sympathetic. She activated the privacy screen so that the driver couldn't listen in or watch them. "It's all right," she soothed. "She doesn't know what she's talking about."

"No one knows what he can be like," Roganda sobbed. "He gives me to his most esteemed guests, governors. I'm nothing more than a belonging, something he shares." Roganda wiped her eyes with the hem of her dress. "This child could belong to a handful of men," she hissed. "He can't know."

Leia winced inside. She'd heard rumours, stories, from Luke. "You could leave," she whispered softly. _I would help you_, she almost said, but she knew better.

Roganda looked stricken, as though Leia had told her she planned to murder the Emperor. "I can _never_ leave." Through tears, she asked, "What was your question?"

"I hadn't thought of one yet," Leia lied.

* * *

She'd sensed the power in the medcentre room before she even awoke. It was warm, unlike the cold chill of the Emperor. When she opened her eyes, she saw a man who was both strange and familiar sitting on her bed.

"You're so…. _beautiful_." He shook a head covered in dirty blond hair. "I don't know why I can't remember you."

"Luke?"

"Yes. I'm Luke."

She sat up awkwardly. Her right arm was encased in a clear suction cast; she could see bacta against her bare skin, against the cuts on her wrist. She closed her eyes slowly and opened them. He didn't disappear and his weight still bent the bed.

"Why did you try to kill yourself?"

"I _didn't_." She hadn't thought about the consequences of what she'd been about to do. "It was an accident. I didn't want to wear his gift," she says.

In the preparation rooms at the rear of the Senate rotunda, the _gifts_ from the Emperor had been waiting for them, wrapped in gold paper and tied with jewelled ribbon. When Leia had picked up the dress, she'd seen her hands shimmering behind the fabric as though she held them beneath running water. Loveti moth fibre was soft, light as air and, when un-dyed, utterly translucent.

The preparation rooms were private; she hadn't seen the other girls, didn't know how they would react. She'd peeked out through the slatted door and seen Roganda Ismaren proudly marching toward the Emperor, high breasts jiggling, the pink of her nipples and dark pubic hair showing through. In horror, Leia had watched as the emperor received her, his hungry eyes half-obscured by melted folds of flesh and a concealing hood. As that was unfolding, one of the chaperones had said to another outside her door, "How lovely Roganda looks in blue."

Then, Leia had understood it was a game. Just as it would have made more sense to have the gowns delivered to the finishing school, but the Emperor's mind tricks couldn't extend that far. To refuse would be to reveal herself.

The Emperor made everyone so nervous that decanters of wine had been set out in the preparation rooms. She'd seized a goblet, filled it with wine and gulped down half of it while staring at herself in the mirror. She couldn't remember if she'd thrown a punch at the mirror, or if she'd thrown her entire body, but upon impact, the fragile glass shattered; her wrist had snapped back, and shards had cut across both arteries. The blood had spurted up against the mirror and rained back at her. The colour had drained from her face until she was a ghastly shade of white, and the wondered it she was bleeding out from the top down, and if it really mattered any more… She'd gathered her _gift_ - several thousand credits worth of loveti moth fibre - and wrapped it like a tourniquet around her wrist. Then, she'd crumpled to the floor and waited for someone to find her.

"Are you _like_ me?" he asked.

"What do you mean?"

"You knew about the dresses didn't you?" he asked. "You were the only one who refused to wear it. And the girl with black hair… who is she?"

"Roganda Ismaren," Leia said.

"Yes. She was the only one who wore nothing beneath it."

_It _was_ a test_, Leia thought. She realised why he was there; they thought she'd attempted suicide and that assumption had engendered her with power. She also realised that she was still in the Imperial Palace.

"Oh," he said. Then, "_oh_," again, as though he'd forgotten something important. "The Emperor is worried about you."

Hostility rose like a dragon. "If he sent you-"

"No one is forcing you to do anything. That was his message. End of message. I'm angry with him."

"Why?"

"For not telling me about you before today." He leaned close enough that she could see he had a broken blood vessel on his left eyelid. "Are you like me?"

"What do you mean?"

"I thought you knew."

Later, she would recognize the slight pressure against her mind, the sudden desire to offer the truth to him, to offer him anything. At that moment, she thought she made a choice. She wanted so desperately to tell him the truth. "Yes."

"Why don't they know?"

"I don't want them to know."

"I won't tell them," he said. "Your secret is safe with me."

For the first time since old Etti Durasha had died, Leia felt as though someone cared about her. She threw her arms around him. "I've been waiting for you to come back for so long."

It had been a child's dream, a child's wish.

It was as though no one had ever touched him, hugged him. There was a long awkward moment before his arms remembered what to do. "I would have come back," he said. "I swear, if I'd remembered."

* * *

"Punch it!"

Leia punched it. Inertia rammed her back against her seat as the ship launched into hyperspace.

This nights' flying lesson had been her best yet. At the asteroid belt, she'd successfully navigated the _Spirit of Nyenthi'Oris_ around a series of jagged, pitted asteroids, and, when one had suddenly upended and swung towards the old YT-1000, she'd altered course, accelerated and avoided a potentially serious impact without breaking into a sweat. Finally, she'd plotted and executed the return jump to Coruscant without his stepping in once.

"I did it!" she exclaimed.

"You sure did." Han Solo was grinning proudly. He always wore black and was prone to deadpan jokes, but he had a sensuous, relaxed way of moving and piloting, as though nothing ever bothered him.

Leia unbuckled her crash webbing, hopped up from her seat, leaned down and kissed him because she knew he wouldn't first. He caught the back of her head and kissed her as though they were never coming out of hyperspace. His bottom lip was deliciously full and soft between her teeth. Her stomach fluttered. He ran his hand down the outside of her thigh.

She felt like her chest had been wrapped in a restraining band when she drew her head back. "I need to bring us out of hyperspace."

"You have two minutes," he said with a wry grin, although she hadn't seen him check the console chronometer. "The observation deck of the yacht starship has a dining table. They're cooking right now."

"_They_?"

"The chef and his assistant."

She hadn't noticed until then that he hadn't brought a bag.

"You didn't think I was going to keep feeding you cold restaurant food?"

She laughed. She didn't know what she thought. "Will they be gone before we arrive?"

Han shrugged, his hand still sliding up and down her outer thigh. "Worried."

"Cautious."

"They'll be gone."

She sat back in her seat, strapped herself in and rested her hands on her knees.

On the walk to the yacht starship, everything had changed between them. She could still feel Han's kiss on her mouth and he clutched her elbow as he steered her up the onramp, close to him, no longer at a polite distance. They entered a long airy hallway, made more spacious by dozens of viewing portals on one side, and thick black and gold carpeting made up of repeating geometric motifs that made the floors look as though they stretched on for over a hundred metres. Thin strips of gold that tapered off into arrows and pointed towards at least three other passageways and five closed doors.

"_This_ way," Han proclaimed with a grin, opening the door to a supply closet. "Oh wait. " He scratched his head. "I could have sworn that was the turbolift."

"Are you sure this is your ship?" she asked.

"Kind of," he said. The next hatchway opened to a refresher.

Leia began laughing.

The next was a utility closet.

"Fine, you try the next door."

The next was a bedroom.

"This isn't the turbolift," she declared.

"Nope." Eyes alit, Han Solo crossed his arms and propped himself up in the hatchway. "Oops."

"Indeed." She'd been tingling with anticipation since they stepped onboard. They kissed until she was nearly breathless. He flattened one hand against the center of her back; the other slowly moved over her breasts, cupping them in turn.

She crossed the threshold and peeled the bodysuit down to her waist unabashedly.

He stooped and brush-kissed her collarbone. "I wanted to do this the night I met you," he murmured, walking her backwards toward the bed.

"In your suites above the _Manarai_?" she whispered. She tugged his shirt free from the waist of his trousers, slid her hand up over the smooth skin along his lower back. She ran her fingers through the soft hair behind his ear.

"With the red dress."

"I'll wear it next time."

"Really?"

"Maybe." She helped him remove his shirt, and his trousers. He had the body of a natural athlete, lean and muscled. She went to remove the entire bodysuit, but he caught her hands. He took the edge of the bodysuit from her fingers and peeled it down as if he were unwrapping a gift. He picked her up behind the knees and pushed her back onto the bed. He ran his mouth lightly over her thighs, between her thighs, over her stomach. He kissed her again, his tongue entering her mouth as one finger slipped inside of her.

She arched her back slightly. She was wet and warm and she really wanted this, the kick in her gut of penetration, all the way down to her toes, and right that second, not in fifteen or thirty or forty-five. She was strong enough to pull him down, her legs pulled him to her, and he guided himself in.

He was too tall for her, but she scrunched her legs up around his back and he curled his torso and it worked. He slipped his hand beneath her bottom and hoisted her so that that he was tight against her and only her head and shoulders rested on the bed. At first, she kept her eyes closed and they didn't talk. She let him move, let him read her body language and adjust.

The sex was good. She was tense from the flying lesson, still wound up and nervy after making her first hyperspace jump. The tension slowly poured from her muscles into the layers of the expensive mattress.

Han massaged her, from the nape of her bent knee all the way up to her collarbone and over to the soft underside of her upper arm as though he wanted to squeeze every drop of pleasure, every touch. The throb was spreading like a flush across her loins, like wires crackling and circuits racing, they were heavy and full. Even though her body was hot, she couldn't feel her fingertips anymore, as though there were numb from cold, so she pressed the insides of her wrists against his shoulders, breathing so shallowly that the inside of her ears buzzed. She let her legs fall from his back, slack.

She liked to let it happen that way, be at the mercy of it.

When the spasms began, Han kissed her greedily, as though he were drinking it in, tasting her deliriousness. Usually, she sought to separate herself from Luke; they never made_ love_ and she hated to let him kiss her when she came. She hadn't shared that with anyone since Iolu. This was different though. She liked the way their shuddering bodies mimicked one another. The final thrusts against her womb were so deep that they were almost painful, but she embraced the pain as she did the pleasure of orgasm, all connected and part of the whole.

The pillow cradled her neck and head. She turned to the right and saw large, decorative tiles, with the same motif as the carpets, based on the ancient Corellian star. The jolt back to reality was acute. It had been three years since she'd felt a stirring within her like this. Since Iolu. It would make her fragile. It would weaken her. And it would put him in danger. _They'll hurt him, _she thought_, they'll hurt him if they find out_. She fit her fingernails into a long angry vibroblade scar that angled just above his left hip. Han sucked in air between his teeth, and at first she thought it hurt him, and then she realised she had unconsciously clenched her entire body and he was sensitive right at that moment.

"Maybe we…" She rolled the tip of her tongue along Han's throat and stretched her arms around him, so that he wouldn't think she was casually ending the moment between them. "The dinner," she concluded.

"That's right," he replied.

She was aware of her nakedness only when he climbed off her, and light-headed when she sat up. She shook her head so that her hair fell forward and covered her breasts. She almost panicked when she looked down. Her body was marked with evidence, flushed and red. Warm fluids, the aftermath of sex, seeped onto the bed.

Even the fresher had ornate golden tiles.

When she exited the fresher, she eyed the bed and said, "We can't leave the room like this."

"I have people who clean up."

"And they talk."

"My people don't talk." He opened a closet. Inside hung half a dozen silk robes in as many colours. He grabbed one and shrugged into it.

"You keep robes for guests?"

"This is my partner's cruiser. It's part of his master schmoozing routine. He likes his guests to feel _comfortable_."

"Oh."

He picked his clothes up and laid them on the bed as though he would be coming back later. She followed suit, then donned a navy blue robe that swam over her wrists and ankles. She let him lead her through a series of hallways to a small turbolift. She'd never been on a pleasure cruiser before (although the Emperor owned several), and never imagined that on her first time she would be padding around in bare feet.

When the turbolift doors opened to the observation deck, the aroma of roast gorak, fine herbs and malla petals overwhelmed her. The observation deck was three times the size of her apartments on Coruscant. Located atop the yacht starship, it offered a panoramic view of the skyhook and the stars beyond. There was a lounging area, with several leather couches stationed around a low dining table, which was set for two.

On the way to the table, Han pointed her toward the bar. "Do you really prefer ale or were you playing hard to get the night we met?"

"I prefer wine," she confessed guiltily.

"Did you lie about anything else?"

"Not that I recall at this moment."

Han chuckled and his comlink rang. "Pick something out, will you," he said.

She crouched and perused the contents of the wine-fridge, then selected a fine bottle of Sullustan wine. She set it on the counter and set about cracking the seal. Han casually set his hand on her backside and rubbed it, saying, "Yes. Yes. I told you that already. Uh huh. Fine."

Slowly, she poured wine into each glass, three fingers below the rim. She liked the way his hand felt over the silk, the way the fabric undulated against the back of her calves like tepid water. She wanted to close her eyes, lean back and sip her wine; pretend this was her right, that this was his right.

She was sorry when the call ended.

"Pardon. Business."

"I'm sure it never ends with what you do."

"It doesn't. Hungry?"

"Famished."

The comlink rang again. He threw it in the small trash compactor beside the bar and hit the switch. It emitted several chirrups and died with a satisfying _squeak-crunch_. "That should take care of that."

She sat at the table faced with the strange sensation of just having just slept with someone and mixed up the boundaries. "Was that wise?"

Han began serving slices of gorak meat and malla petals. "Is this?"

"I don't know," she said. The slitherhorn player had described Han Solo as a man addicted to his work, but the more time she spent with him the more she realised the rumours were true only on the surface. "It depends. Do you miss it?''

"Miss what?" He held the spoon over a miniature earthenware pot. "Sauce?"

"Yes. I mean your old life. Smuggling? Flying?"

He passed her a plate. "There are pros and cons to both. Or _were_. I spent years with my ass on the line, nearly being killed. The credits came and went, depending on the jobs I worked. Now, the risks I take are strictly of the financial sort. People underestimate how much like the business world smuggling is – it _is_ part of the business world. The greater the risk, the greater the return. Some of my current associates are slimier than my old smuggling contacts, and I knew a lot of… _slimy _ones."

"You sell arms legally. You probably smuggled them illegally."

"I prefer to think of my current business in terms of _defense_. We have clients with very special and particular needs."

"Do you consider me a client?"

"I'd call you a hobby." He grinned. "Most women want only one thing."

"To sleep with you?" she teased. She'd had several sips of the tart wine and it was already affecting her.

"That and my penthouse." He stabbed at a piece of gorak meat. "But my ex got it in the settlement."

Leia took a bite. The gamey meat, covered in a tangy berry sauce, dissolved like butter on her tongue. "This is delicious," she said.

"Should be. The chef I hired used to work at _Nova Nova_."

Leia regarded him blankly.

"It's the best restaurant on Corellia. In Coronet City."

"I'll remember that if I ever make it there."

Leia thought about Roganda. Roganda's ambitions had been simple; she'd wanted a position within the Imperial Palace, would have done anything to gain power, to gain material things, to gain status, even parade herself naked. Palpatine had chosen her alone that night, perhaps charmed by her audacity. She'd always assumed that they were fundamentally different, but right at that moment, she didn't know that they were.

"I need one more favour," she said.

"On top of everything else," Han guffawed.

"Unless you're doing business there, I need you to promise you won't return to the _Manarai_. They watch me there."

"_They_?"

"They. You understand?"

"I think so." He let his hand fall beneath the table. He squeezed her knee reassuringly. "Sweetheart, whatever it is you're running away from… _whoever _it is, everybody has a past."

"I don't have a past." She took another large bite of gorak meat and chewed, staring through the transparisteel at the galaxy beyond, wishing she could throw herself into it and be lost forever. Then she swallowed and said, "I have a present."


	6. Chapter 6

5

"In a restaurant," Han declared. "All dressed up."

"We've had real dinners."

"Not the same."

"Two on the yacht starship." She smiled and dangled a restless leg over the armrest. "Although I don't know if the one you burned here in the galley counts."

"We could hop from one side of Coruscant to the other. I know a great little place-"

"You're too recognisable." She shook her head. "We'd wind up on the cover of the _Coruscanti Daily_."

"How long can you get away for? A night?"

"Not that long," she replied.

"Ten hours."

"Six."

"Nine."

"Eight and you owe me."

"Owe you what?" he asked.

"You haven't been teaching me how to do any maintenance work. How to do system checks, reboots, scans and general repairs."

"I have people for that."

She rolled her eyes. "You have people for everything. _I_ need to learn how."

"You're really gonna buy a ship and take off?"

"_Yes_."

He didn't say anything back. This was their fifth week of flying lessons and her temerity still impressed the hell out of him.

She misinterpreted the look on his face for skepticism. "I _have_ the money."

"Sure you do, Sweetheart."

Her dark eyes flashed with anger. Han thought she looked beautiful. "How?"

"In university…" she began. "In university, I was involved with someone who came from money. We were going to run away together. We opened an account with fake identification, set it up with an intergalactic bank account so that we could withdraw funds anywhere in the galaxy." She pursed her lips. "We had enough to last us at least a year."

Han scanned the displays. "What happened?"

She shifted, drew the leg back over the armrest and straightened her spine. "I told you people close to me have a habit of getting hurt." She let out a lungful of air as though she'd been holding it in. "The money is still there, in the accounts. I'm going to use it to buy a ship. You can't teach me how to fly and not how to repair a ship."

"I guess I can't."

"Besides." She twitched the frown from her lips. "The sex is free. For an _offworld_ dinner, you've got to improve your end of the bargain."

His laughter filled every corner of the cockpit. "Fine." He fixed her with an intense smile. "Next time we have our lesson, be prepared to get your hands dirty."

"As it so happens," she said, slipping from the co-pilot's chair and sliding her legs on either side of his so that she straddled his lap.

She used the voice she used when they were in bed, one that called to mind the feel of her hair between his legs and the slick, soft feel of her mouth. "As it so happens what?" he asked breathlessly.

"I love to get dressed up."

* * *

The _Spirit of Nyenthi'Oris_ was a sturdy little ship and her systems had been updated prior to her purchase. The previous owner hadn't taken her for more than ten hyperspace jumps; other than a few minor hull scratches and dated interior appliances, she was in mint condition. Han had to search for things they could mend. Briefly, he entertained blasting the hydraulics or some other secondary system so that they could patch it up. Every other job, something had needed fixing on the _Falcon_. She'd been ornery that way. Chewbacca used to growl that she resembled Han personality-wise, that all the modifications and upgrades and jury-rigging had made her as cantankerous as her owner. It had been true enough, except that Han didn't have a hyperdrive for a heart and fluidics for veins.

He made a mock-up of a hull breach and taught Leia how to locate it and seal it. It took her three tries. It wasn't her fault - without the force of a vacuum sucking air outside the ship, the hull-patch wouldn't _stick_ was the way it was intended.

"If you don't get this right…" He shook his head, slowly, reluctantly.

"What?"

"I won't sleep with you later."

"_Damn it_."

She swore as though he meant it.

They both knew he didn't.

"I'll give you a bonus question," he declared. "What part of the ship is best left to the experts?"

"The hyperdrive." She brushed the back of a greasy hand against her forehead. It left a long dark streak. "They covered that in basic piloting."

"Wasn't it kind of funny," he asked, "you being in basic piloting and never flying?"

"Funny to who?"

"Not that kind of funny."

"I know what you meant."

"There are a lot of seasoned pilots who wouldn't know the stuff you did about rebalancing the motivator. They don't know _anything_ about hyperdrive generators."

"I studied." She stooped and picked up a stray access panel. She kept her face averted. Enough peeked out through her hair - the corner of an eyelid, the line of her jaw - that he knew she was deep in concentration, trying to replace the panel over the power core, with the clamps and screws in proper order.

"And you never registered for a single class."

"I sat in. I bought the data-packs."

"Is that what it's like, being a ward of the Emperor, not being able to do the things you want?"

It was a yes or no question. Han figured she couldn't dodge it.

She finished attaching the last clamp. Her tone was guarded. "At times."

"Eventually, don't you get too _old_ to be a ward?"

"At the start of every year, I wake up and hope so." She handed him the multi-tool. "Then I test it. I try to leave Coruscant under my own name. Sirens go off when I hit customs. Shortly after that an Imperial Security detail arrives."

He almost believed her but she was grinning to herself. He couldn't think of a way to ask without sounding insulting, so he blurted out, "What's so special about you?"

She looked at him in mock surprise. "I thought I _was_ special," she said. "To you."

And then she grinned.

"You're impossible, you know that."

"_Stubborn_," she corrected.

"Right. In thirty languages. How could I forget? Okay you… have you ever used a fusion-welder before?"

"No."

The final lesson was already set up in the starboard passageway. Han handed her a pair of yellow-shaded goggles. "Put these on." He donned a pair himself. "Ever done any welding at all?"

She shook her head.

"Never take your goggles off. If they fall and you lose 'em, close your eyes and let go of the trigger, otherwise you'll damage your corneas." He had the fusion welder in his hand but the safety was on. He tapped the two couplings with the tip of the welder. "You can use a softer filler metal if you need it. Always keep scraps on hand, pre-cut. If you can get the couplings butted up against each other like this, they'll take to one another. You need to make sure they're straight though… Hold it, find the safety and unlock it." He ran the laser beam steadily over the seam between the two couplings for three seconds. It merged into one. "That's it. And you're golden. He stood behind her, stretched his arms on either side, and pressed the welder into her hand. "Now your turn."

"Like this?" She rested her elbow atop his.

"Yeah, just like that."

He had her weld three couplings together in a row, one with filler metal, two without. She jumped the first time the beam cracked to life, but after than she was calm. She was meticulous, slightly anal-retentive even, measuring and levelling everything twice. By the last coupling, she leaned against him slightly, as though the fusion-welder had a kickback to it, which it didn't.

"Nice job," he said.

"I think I can handle this." She admired her handiwork for a moment. Then she said, "I grew up in a private boarding school. He came to see me once or twice a year." She talked as though she'd been storing the sentences up for hours. "It was always the worst day of my life. And for the record, I _do _know why, but it's better if you don't."

Han had seen the Emperor in holos thousands of times, and in person only once, at the opening of the Imperial Symphony Orchestra, back when he and Bryn were first married. Frail and feeble-looking, Palpatine had been surrounded by a crimson sea of the fearsome Royal Imperial Guard, as though he feared assassins waited around every staircase. He couldn't imagine what that ravaged face would have appeared like to a child. His arms tightened. "What about now?"

"He checks in. That's why I need to leave as soon as I'm able."

The undercurrent in her voice was telling him not to get attached; he wasn't listening. He ran his fingers over the welded seam, wondering if she was a restless or sound sleeper, slept on her stomach or her side. Did she like sex in the middle of the night or did she sleep curled up in a ball, limbs in, closed-off like, legs yanked together tight so no one could touch? Did she sleep with her hair down or tied up so it wasn't pinned beneath her shoulders? He had a lover like that once, who shoved her long hair over her head. It used to sprawl on his pillow and smother him.

"How soon is that?"

"Two months."

Standing behind her then, two months felt more like a lifetime. He closed his mouth over the spot where her bodysuit and bare skin meet. He used his teeth and swirled his tongue as if she was an edible, a delicacy like namana nectar.

"_Hey_." She murmured a sustained complaint. "Don't leave a mark."

He shoved his goggles on top of his head. "Who will see?"

She tilted her neck back and smiled at him, face half-tinted by the yellow goggles. "Everyone at dinner."

* * *

The dress was green like an aboreal forest at midday, with clumps of tilted sunlight spattered through the treetops. It fell off one shoulder and was slightly sheer; she wore a bodyglove beneath it that didn't quite reach her shoulders or her knees.

He flew her to Utrost, a cosmopolitan planet only a few light-years from Coruscant. It was afternoon in the ocean-side city of **Ovi Frihet**. The restaurant was terraced, set on the cliffs overlooking Utrost's Great Ocean and salt air breezes tapered toward the shore. It was lunchtime, but they called it dinner and the waiter played along.

By the time they were halfway through the return trip to Coruscant, her skin had the greenish pallor of a Falleen. She slumped in the co-pilot's chair with a peculiar expression on her face and said she wasn't feeling well. She spent the end of the flight locked in the refresher or laying on the crash couch in the main hold, simultaneously shivering and sweating and looking miserable.

Food poisoning, they decided. Han had had the_ teratta_, seasoned terk hide strips in oil and groat milk; she'd had the Chadra starfish in membrosia sauce. Definitely the seafood. Unfortunately, he had nothing on board the _Spirit_ but a skeleton medpac, no antitoxins, nothing for nausea.

"Where to you live?" he asked after landing at the skyhook.

"I can't bring you there."

"Well you can't take a shuttle and the skytube like this."

"Can we wait?" she pleaded.

In an hour, she couldn't make the trips between the refresher and the crash couch without bracing herself against the wall.

"My place," he suggested. "I'm not much of a nursemaid but it'll be more comfortable than the ship."

"I don't know." Whatever resolved she possessed had been taxed by illness. "Maybe we should… I don't know."

The absurdity of the situation forced him to decide. "Does your building have a landing pad?"

"Yes."

"Then I'll fly you in my airspeeder."

She lived in Subsector J55-04, Level 73, on the fringes of the Palace District in a monolithic skytower that featured thousands of identical units. He propped her up in the turbolift while he slid her ID cards through the scanners.

Inside, an L-shaped lounging area and small kitchen comprised the main living areas. There were two doorways. One doorway led to an empty room with a training mat arranged on the carpet and the second led to a bedroom with an attached fresher unit. The apartment, although standardized and generic, had been livened up as much as possible with warm colours, comfortable conform furniture and packed data-cases. An expensive floater globe hovered over the dining table; inside it, coloured gases swirled in imitation of the Rainbow Nebulae. Other art pieces strategically decorated the walls and a few holocubes were displayed on data-case shelves and side tables. They revealed past nights at the _Manarai_, Leia with her friends in the band and the other staff. There was a holo of two toddlers arm in arm, sitting beneath a cyperill tree in one of Coruscant's botanical gardens.

Her apartments contained far more than an illusion of a life, Han decided._ Far_ more than an illusion.

He helped her into the bedroom. She asked for bedclothes from her dresser and then she asked him to hang up her green dress. He commed a nearby pharmacy and ordered anti-nausea drops. Then he commed his assistant at _Calrissian-Solo Munitions Inc_. and cancelled his early-morning meeting, just in case.

It took half an hour for the medicine to arrive, and another hour for it to take effect. In the meantime, he massaged the cramps from her calves, fetched cold cloths and did whatever he could to be helpful.

"You don't have to stay," she insisted repeatedly.

"I sort of feel like this is all my fault."

"It's not your fault."

Han rearranged the pillows so that he could recline on the bed and lean against the headboard. The décor and furniture were all darker than the rest of her apartment, the walls painted a sombre shade of crimson. Stacked datadiscs and data-readers cluttered the nightstand. He slid his fingers above the crease of her wrist and pressed down between the bones of her forearm. "There's the pressure point. I'll hold it until you feel better."

"I mean it. You don't."

"I chose the restaurant."

"Oh, but it was beautiful there." Her face was shiny with perspiration. "I felt like I was fully awake for the first time in years."

"If you thought Utrost was beautiful," he said, "Then you haven't seen anything yet."

"_Really_." She closed her eyes temporarily. "My brother will be coming."

"You have a brother?" That surprised him. He'd figured her for an orphan ever since she mentioned she was a ward of the state. "Is that you two in the holo out there?"

"Yes."

"Older or younger?"

"Twin."

"A _twin_."

"He's overprotective. It would be best if you weren't here when he arrived."

"I'll take my chances. Frankly…" He lowered his voice a notch. "Let's just say I've run across more than one overprotective brother in my time."

"No." She opened her eyes again and fastened her gaze. "You don't understand. He's dangerous."

Han didn't know what to say to that. "Are you leaving him too?"

She didn't hesitate to answer. "Yes."

The veins in her wrist had risen to the surface like blue-black spider webs. "This is one hell of a … crazy plan you have."

"It will work." Even sick and half-asleep, the grit and the determination were there.

Holding her forearm and lying down with her was suddenly more intimate than having her upturned body beneath his. There were chinks in her armour. "Do you have any idea _where_ you'll go?"

"Yes."

He ran his finger along her forehead, caught a stray hair trapped between two eyelashes and another stuck to the corner of her mouth. "You're not gonna tell me are you?"

"No. They'll know if you know."

"They'll _know _if I _know_?" he repeated. The sedative in the anti-nausea drops had kicked in. Or she was delirious.

"They'll know," she murmured. "They'll make you tell them." She closed her eyes sleepily. "Don't let go."

* * *

Leia awoke to an uncomfortable conversation outside her bedroom."I'm Han Solo. You must be-" 

"Luke."

Silence.

"Uh… Your sister has food poisoning."

Another silence. She pressed her palm against the spot where Han had been lying earlier and felt no trace of body warmth. Han must have been in the other room when Luke arrived. They were lucky. Stupid. And blessedly lucky. Luke's visits tended to be haphazard, twice a week at most - she hadn't even been certain he would come tonight - but still, she shouldn't have been so reckless. She knew better.

"I brought her home from dinner." Han sounded as though the awkwardness of the moment were wearing on him.

"Oh?"

"I thought I should wait until you got here."

"Thank you."

"And… I guess I'll be going now."

"Yes."

The main entrance swished shut. She willed herself to be a void, feel and reveal nothing.

Luke stormed into the bedroom like a krayt dragon whose territory had just been overrun by another dragon. "Who is he?"

"He just told you. He's an acquaintance."

"What kind of acquaintance?"

"He invited me to dinner to discuss a possible performance at a benefit he's hosting."

"An acquaintance," Luke repeated, pacing around her bedroom, fingertips studiously grazing the walls and furniture. He stopped at the bed. "Or something more."

"I suspect his intentions are more," Leia admitted, because every lie needed a kernel of truth in order to be perceived as believable. She sensed the pressure against her mind; she concentrated on shielding her innermost thoughts. "You were rude. He was only being kind."

There was a long terrible moment where he debated pursuing the line of questioning.

Finally, he relented. "Well, shall I comm for a medic from the palace?"

"No." She covered her eyes with the damp cloth to block out the night table lamp, and his eyes. Her head still throbbed and her entire body ached from vomiting as though she'd singularly strained every muscle from the back of her neck to her ankles. "Just let me sleep."

"Can I get you anything?"

"Maybe. Watered down juice."

"Just a second."

As soon as he left, she touched the wrinkled fabric of the bedcover where Han had lain again and wondered what he was thinking now. She wished she'd been awake to say goodbye. With a sigh, she slipped her arm back beneath the covers, up against her stomach. With her other hand, she traced the bones of her forearm until she found the pressure spot. Craving the memory, she held it as he had.

Moments later, feet padded back into the room and snapped her from the daydream. Then came the clink of glass on the wooden surface of her nightstand. "So what did he say?"

His voice had changed. He could do that so easily; go from sounding like someone's worst enemy to their best friend within the span of a several seconds. "About what?" she asked.

"About the benefit? When is it?"

"It's not for a few months. We didn't finish. It was something I ate in a hors d'oeuvre."

"Seafood?"

"Yes."

He laid a cool hand on her shoulder. "You're very warm."

"It's the fever from the food poisoning," she mumbled. Coruscant's sun was distant for an inhabited world. Orbital mirrors reflected the sun's rays toward the surface to make the climate more agreeable. On Utrost, the sun had been high and brilliant. Her pale skin wasn't used to it. She distracted him with questions. "What time is it?"

"Almost morning."

"You were late."

"We had an incident." He paused. "He's been asking about you."

It was the prelude to the type of intricate conversation she dreaded when she felt healthy. "What does he want?"

"He inquires as to your happiness."

"And what do you tell him?"

"That you're well." The weight of Luke's bent knee tipped the mattress. "I should warn you, he grows weary of allowing this fling with a commoner's life you seem hell-bent on experiencing."

"It's not a fling."

"If you were to accept his offer, you would want for nothing. You wouldn't have to live like this. You'd have luxurious quarters within the Imperial Palace, gowns of Lashaa and Ottegan silk, jewels, servants to cater to you. You wouldn't have to work."

"My answer will never change." She rolled over and dragged the wet cloth from her eyes. "You _swore_ you would never permit it."

"He seems to think…" His jaw was set. "He seems to think that you'll betray me."

_Betray._ If only she understood what _betray _meant to her brother. Linguistics said all language originated in a shout of pain, a cry of joy, an exclamation of love. They said most words were related to the senses. But what was _betray, _especially to a man who was hardened and impenitent, a man who inured himself to emotion.

"How does he foresee this? Do _you_ meditate? What do you see?"

"You think I can't sense it in you," Luke replied, anger rising pure and unrestrained. "Something is _building_. Perhaps I've kept your secret for too long."

She struggled to sit up and was almost overcome by a hotflash of nausea. The bedroom pitched and shifted. "You believe_ him_ rather than your own flesh and blood? He's lied to you before, hasn't he? Right now, he has you convinced that you're indebted to him. That's he's permitting you me – and this debt of gratitude you feel is nothing but a way to manipulate you-"

"You pretend that your skills are so inferior to mine that you wouldn't know how to use them."

"I haven't the training, Luke."

"Except for what I've taught you."

She pressed the balls of her feet into the carpet. "It's been a lifetime since you taught me anything."

"I know you practice more than you admit. Often, on the way here, I can sense it, the force shifting near you, around you."

"I not a Jedi." She didn't trust her legs to support her; she steadied herself on his shoulder. "I never will be."

"The Jedi are extinct."

Luke helped her into the refresher. She turned on the tap and lowered her face to the sink; the cold water revived her.

"What are _you_ then?" she asked, peering at his expressionless reflection in the mirror. If he pitied her, she couldn't see it in his eyes.

"I know enough. I know _more_." He shrugged casually, his anger subsiding as quickly as it had come. He stepped up behind her and gathered her hair with one hand. With the other, he traced a circle through the back of her nightdress as though he meant to soothe her.

She wondered if the gesture was one of genuine comfort or one he'd learned was expected of him.

"The Jedi were foolish," he continued. "There is no light and there is no darkness. The Force is merely a power, a power that only the gifted among us can touch."

She shifted so that her elbows rested on the counter and watched the water flow over her wrists. On Utrost, waves generated from the ocean tides had converged with waves reflected from the shore and the peaks seemed to stand still on the surface. Throughout the meal, they'd mesmerized her. "That's what_ he's _taught you."

"They didn't understand the nature of the Force, Leia. Our father did. When the Jedi Council requested that Anakin spy on Palpatine and become a traitor to the government that the Jedi had sworn to support, he refused. When the Jedi came to kill Palpatine, he died saving his life."

_Saved__ indeed_, Leia thought bitterly. _And for what? A dictatorship? _"Perhaps it was our father who was mistaken."

"Be careful of your words."

"You can sense how I feel. Why would I bother to be careful of my words?"

"Because you'll have to face him yourself. You're to have dinner with him."

"_No_."

"No?" He raised an eyebrow, as though amused by the vehemence of her refusal. "It's an order."

It took all of her strength to stand. "Are you on duty that night?" she asked.

"Yes."

He helped her back to the bed and pulled the covers partway up. She felt physically winded as though she'd sprinted up a flight of stairs, emotionally helpless and drained. Luke was changing. Palpatine had been cultivating his desire for power, nurturing it and coaxing it like a wilting flower planted in sandy soil. It wasn't in Luke's nature by birth, but his nature was nearly gone. Eventually, he would want more power and bargain her away.

This was whatshe foresaw.

He stood above the bed looking down at her. "I suppose you're not… well no." Question answered, he leaned down and kissed her forehead with such tenderness that her heart ached. This had been Luke once, a long time ago, even five years ago. "I know you wouldn't betray me, truly. You were mine before you were even born. But you need to pretend."

"I can pretend," she whispered. The defeat in her voice wasn't an act.

"Yes, I know you can."

His hair tickled her cheek and neck. She felt his lips graze curve beneath her collarbone where Han had kissed earlier, and then, she felt the blood vessels breaking and an undercurrent of panic rising, both outside of her and within her.

And then he stood and stepped away from the bed as though nothing had happened.

As though he didn't know.

"There is a gift waiting for you in the kitchen," he announced coolly. "Roganda says it will match the dress she purchased for you."

The datareader landed on his desk with a thud.

"She's 23," Lando began. "She studied theatre at the University of Coruscant and has been working at the _Manarai_ for just over a year. She was raised on one of Palpatine's estates for gifted children, and by 'gifted', all indications are that her father was a Jedi, although there are no records about her mother. A Jedi by the name of Anakin Skywalker was killed in a duel in Palpatine's chambers, along with the Jedi Master Mace Windu. Palpatine claimed that Windu, at the behest of the Jedi Council, sought to assassinate him, and that Skywalker came to his defense. He claimed that in the ensuing battle, both Jedi killed each other and fell out the window."

"_Interesting_," Han declared, closing down his console and swivelling his chair around. "What else?"

"During her final year in university, she was involved with the son of a prominent Coruscanti family, a student by the name of Iolu PrajiSix months later, he turned up in a gutter fifty levels below the surface with his heart cut out. She was questioned in his death but never charged with anything." Lando set a pair of gold-rimmed datadiscs down. "The brother, Luke, is a member of the Emperor's Royal Guard. He serves as a Sovereign Protector."

"That explains a lot." Han was not soft. He trained religiously and he could still draw a blaster faster than nashtah could spring and sink its jaws into a man's throat. But old-fighting instincts had told him he would not walk away easily from an encounter with Luke Skywalker.

"Explains what?" Lando asked.

"She's afraid of him."

"No wonder." Lando removed his Veda cloth cape and settled into the plush leather chair on the opposite side of Han's desk. "Here's a charming anecdotal aside for you. A few months ago, some Kalzerian who'd had too much to drink made a grab for her or copped a feel. I'm sure it's an occupational hazard at the _Manarai_. Unfortunately for the Kalzerian, her brother was present when it happened. He took him outside and cut off the offending hand with a vibroblade."

Han flinched – he'd used more than well… a_ hand_ to touch her. _That's right Han_, he thought. _Turn paranoid._ "Maybe it was an isolated incident."

Lando casually reached over and picked up a stylus made of exquisitely carved black oxite. "Normal, well-adjusted individuals don't work for the Emperor."

"Are these the highlights?"

"The entire file is highlights. Most of her medical files were classified and encrypted, except for a visit to a numbered clinic in Sector 4892last year. They specialize in pregnancy termination."

Han managed to keep his expression blank, even as indignation on her behalf welled within him. The background check had been his idea; he just hadn't expected it to be so… thorough. "Did you turn up anything under the name Lusa Durasha?"

"Durasha was the family name of a woman who worked at her school. Our guy didn't turn up any bank accounts, onworld or off." Lando twirled the stylus between his thumb and forefinger. "I told you she was trouble. We've lost a lot of money trying to keep our operations free from organized crime and away from Imperial interests. If you're planning to make her your latest mistress-"

"She's not my mistress," Han countered, digging around on his desk for the brief on _Curovao ImpEx_. "And the Empire is one of our biggest customers."

"Sure. They are now. But I know how you are. All I'm saying is that if she's _disposable_… it might be better to end it now."

"You're all smiles and fun until it comes to the business, aren't you old friend," Han muttered sarcastically. He found the brief, snapped it into a data-reader and began reviewing numbers.

"Han, I'm just pointing out that most of your women tend to be temporarypursuits."

"She's…" _Not._ Only as he went to say it, did he realise it was true.

"That's what I was afraid of." Lando set the stylus back on Han's desk. "Listen, I can see the attraction. She's beautiful. She's mysterious. She's intelligent. She has a thing for ships. It's almost uncanny. Until I remember that she's an actress."

"Don't insult me." Han slapped the data-reader on his desk and glared, his jaw taut. "I know when a woman is playing me."

"I'm not insulting you. I'm saying there's more to her than what you see on the surface." He smoothed the corners of his moustache. "The other student, the one they found with his heart cut out, he was in the intensive pilot training program."

"You've got it all wrong."

"Yeah, I figured you'd say that." His business partner sighed. "Sometimes I wish Chewbacca was still around to keep an eye on you. Now are you ready for the _Curovao ImpEx_ meeting?"

"Are we budging on our wholesale offer?

"No."

"Fine." Han stood and reached for his jacket. "Then is my collar straight?"


	7. Chapter 7

**6**

Iolu Praji had been the eldest son of one of Coruscant's most prominent families, a family nearly as ancient as the planet-wide city itself. With old money poured vast and deep into the city's financial district, a career wasn't a necessity but an education, or 'professional hobby' as his father called it, was. Iolu had wanted to be a flatsculpt architect, but that hadn't been deemed 'professional' enough for his parents, so he'd enrolled in the pilot's program at Coruscant University. It was there that Leia had met him, sitting in the back row of the white-domed lecture hall.

Leia remembered that Iolu's nose was long and aquiline and his forehead prominent and wide, his hair longish without seeming overly long or unruly. Those features she remembered with an uncanny precision, but in moments of reflection, she couldn't recall the exact shade of blue of his eyes. Beneath his quiet and shy demeanour, he'd been an intellectual and an idealist, and not only in spirit. He's been willing to work with his bare hands and dreamed of travelling the galaxy and working on refugee worlds with dislocated species, especially those rendered homeless by the resource pillaging practised by the Empire. Leia had never been sure if she'd fallen in love with his idealism or his tenderness first, only that he'd brought vivid colour to her life, a life dissolving into shades of grey.

Three years later, despite Luke's claims to the contrary, she was also certain that his death had been her fault, but she had given up believing that her brother would tell her the truth.

The throne room of the Imperial Palace held a massive circular window with transparisteel panes shaped like the rays of the sun that fanned outward in all directions. Coruscant was a planetary ecumenopolis; skylanes cut across the crevasse-like streets in every direction, every which way. Palpatine could gaze down upon the Palace District and even the greatest of the planet's skyscrapers.

On the night of the dinner, Palpatine stood by the window deep in thought when she arrived. "You're right on time, my dear. Come, come." One gnarled hand pointed to the polished floors. "Come stand beside me."

His voice was hoarse and gravely. To Leia, it had always sounded ancient. She went to stand beside him and he grasped her hand as though she were a child. The skin was dry and dead feeling and a shudder of revulsion washed through her so fiercely she couldn't hide it; he seemed not to notice, or chose not to notice.

"I have a dilemma," he announced idly, as though he had been standing there for hours, attempting to reach a resolution.

"I'm not sure that I can help," she said.

"You are aware that the Kel Dorians, who live in the lower levels, cannot breathe oxygen rich air?"

"Yes," she replied.

"We are having difficulties in several of the ethnic neighbourhoods. Other species are complaining that the Kel Dorians are purposely removing filtration systems in order to dirty the air."

Leia nearly bit her lip. In all likelihood, this was a game - Palpatine was fond of games. Tentatively, she said, "Many species were driven together into the lower levels by your policies. They are merely doing what they must to survive."

"Survive, yes, but unfortunately, their actions have inspired the Gands in a neighbouring sector to do the same. Shall I infuse the area with oxygen rich air, sentencing many of the Kel Dorians to pain and suffering and certain death? Or shall I… negotiate?" He pronounced _negotiate_ as though the notion of bargaining disgusted him. "Logically, if I deal with the Kel Dorians, I will be required to deal with the Gands as well. Both species will learn that by terrorising their neighbourhoods, they can bring about the changes they want." Palpatine clucked to himself. "No, I can't have that. If they die they will have brought it upon themselves."

He turned around slowly, releasing her hand. "You're wearing my gift. Do you approve of it?"

Leia touched the necklace of Joralla pearls encircling her throat like a chain. "Yes," she forced herself to say. "These gems are far more precious a gift than I deserve."

"Your brother has indicated that you are not interested in a position here in my palace."

Leia skirted a glance toward the guards in flowing crimson robes. There were five when there should be six and she sensed that her brother wasn't among them.

"He's coming," Palpatine assured her, as if he knew her thoughts. "He's running an errand for me."

One of the servers brought her a glass. Leia struggled to speak, for they were standing face-to-face and she had always had a hard time looking directly at him. It wasn't merely the mask of physically repulsive features; it was the darkness. She could see it and she felt as though if she stared for too long, she would be lost, drawn into it forever. When she spoke, she felt like she was drowning, trying to speak underwater. "My brother speaks the truth."

The Emperor chuckled. "Has it ever occurred to you that there may be positions of great interest to you? Many have trained here and work for me in unofficial capacities. You…" He seemed to size her up. "You are best suited for something official. You think quickly on your feet. You can act and easily impress. You are persuasive. Perhaps you possess the patience to negotiate with the Kel Dorians." He sampled the wine in his goblet. "You would be a valuable ally within my government, far more like your mother than I ever imagined you would be."

Leia blinked. "My mother?" The morsel of information almost weakened her resolve to remain either indifferent or to hate him.

"Hasn't your brother told you? Yes, yes, you are _so_ much like your mother. One of the finest women I have ever known – finest politicians too." Palpatine folded his hands into the sleeves of his robes and began moving toward a double set of dark, heavy wooden doors on the other side of the throne room. "There is, of course, one significant difference between you two and that is your gift from your father."

"No." Leia shook her head, panic engulfing her. "I'm not like my father."

Palpatine didn't hear her, lost in a distant memory. "What was it your brother asked you that day after the accident in the dressing rooms…? Oh, yes… Were you like him? And what was it you said…" His mouth curved almost unnaturally, blackened teeth revealed. "_Yes_."

Leia felt cold and her mouth fell open. She meant to say something, but she couldn't, for he was grinning, and his grin made him appear as a monster from little children's nightmares, yellowy eyes glinting in the light from the rotunda window.

"My dear, nothing ever transpires that _I_ do not permit."

Leia endured the dinner the way she would an epidermal cleansing. Roganda made small talk and the other concubines, Grael and a golden-skinned Firrerreon woman whose name was a mystery to all, barely uttered a word. The other guests were a pair of upper level government officials, sycophants who praised everything from the water to the embroidered napkins.

After dinner, Luke led her through the central maze of corridors to his suites. She had never seen his suites inside the palace. It was a strange revelation to learn that he owned art and data-discs, things other than her that were important to him. She sat on the lounge by the window, which was actually a holographic screen that showed panoramic views of the ivory Mysses Blossoms in the outside gardens. "Our mother was a politician. You never told me."

"Didn't I?" Luke stared at her blankly.

Leia examined his face, but it was closed like a fist about to strike, fingers folded down, pointed knuckles facing out. "No. You never did."

"I have a holo." He flicked several buttons on the panel that controlled the holographic window, and the image of a woman replaced the gardens. Leia's breath caught slightly; she was larger than life, ten times her size. Arm raised, mouth open, she spoke to the crowds in the senate chamber. With her mouth twisted argumentatively, Leia couldn't tell if she was beautiful or not.

"If you like, can have a copy made."

"No." Leia had resolved that she would take nothing with her when she left Coruscant. Not a dated holo of her mother, not fancy gowns, none of Palpatine's gifts. She would painstakingly erase all comm units and drop them in the garbage shoot, force herself to forget all numbers so that she would be able to rely on no one save herself. The temptation would be too great.

Besides, on the birthing table that would be her deathbed, her mother had asked Palpatine to look after her children. More than once during her twenty odd years, Leia had cursed her for that

Thoughts of pregnancy and childbirth reminded her of Roganda and of the fortuneteller's words. If she inhaled deeply enough she could almost smell her perfume in Luke's suites. "Did you know that Roganda is expecting?"

"Of course."

"Did Roganda tell you about the fortune-teller?" she asked. "What she said?"

"The bird-woman." Luke nodded. "She was still shaken up when she arrived back at the palace that day."

"Does Palpatine truly care who the father is?"

Luke shrugged. "She wasn't supposed to get pregnant."

"Wasn't supposed to…" Her eyes flashed with indignant anger. "He shares her with others."

Again, Luke shrugged. "She's always been eager to share herself."

"Don't you think she deserves better?"

"Since when are you her champion?"

"I'm not her champion," Leia countered, straightening her spine so that they were closer in height. "But she's a citizen of Coruscant, and she has rights. She's not a pet, not a slave."

"No," Luke agreed. "But she _is_ part of the Emperor's staff. Her provides for her every need, want and desire and in exchange, she is physically and socially available to him when the need arises. Given the circumstances of her employment, specific types of loyalty are expected. The pregnancy shall interfere with her job." His mouth moved impatiently. "Let me assure you, she did not assume her position blindly, no matter how much she plays the part of the victim."

"Perhaps she lacked the luxury of choice."

"Choices are over-rated." Luke smiled wryly. "She actually tried to convince me the child might be mine."

The news didn't surprise her. "Is it?"

"Once upon a time, it could have been, but Roganda is fonder of games these days."

That was more than she had ever wanted to know about her brother's relationship with Roganda Ismaren. The comment was also the impetus to drive her to her feet and draw the pleated green dress over her shoulders. "In here?"

"Are you in a hurry?"

"No," she answered, although the prospect of spending the night in the Imperial Palace was almost more than she could bear. She thought of Palpatine's eyes again and shivered. Luke misinterpreted her fear for a chill, and removed his robe, swathing her in crimson. "What was your errand?"

"I was sent to ask someone a question."

"A question only you could ask?"

"You're angry with me," he countered, ignoring her prying altogether. "You don't hide it well."

"I'm angry that I was forced to attend this dinner. I'm angry that you treat my life so trivially, as though it's all disposable." She rubbed at her neck, which was tense and knotted from the stress of the evening. "I can't live here. Not within the confines of his… _home_."

"You're speaking nonsense," Luke said, forehead creasing. "It's _my_ home. You can live here and we can go on as we have. Nothing will change."

"Except that I shall have become another of his servants and pawns." Leia swung her chin in an arc and gestured around the suite. "Loyalties shall be expected of me."

Luke paced to the control panel and switched the image back to the outside gardens, his mouth sealed tightly. "The only loyalty expected of you is to me."

"To _you_? Logically, if it's to _you_ than it's also _to him_. Well, I won't do it," she declared. "I _won't_ live here, nor shall I become his servant, nor anything that will keep me within a kilometre of his presence! If you attempt to force me it will be kicking and screaming."

The corner of Luke's mouth lifted in a sly, amused smile, and his eyes glinted gold. He slipped his index finger along the handle of his double-sided vibroblade. "Do you promise?"

She didn't see his foot snaking across the floor. She came down and thwacked the back of her head so hard that she saw stars, even though the carpet provided thick padding. Her lungs gasped out a breath.

Luke fell over her spread eagle so that only his toes and fingertips touched the floor. Touching the bare skin of her shoulder with his thumb, as though he had every right. He was so relaxed and confident of his control. "If you win against me now," he whispered, "you never have to step foot in the palace again."

"If you win?"

"You stay the night."

Echani was an ancient hand-to-hand combat technique, practised by the Echani warriors and unchanged after a millennia. Luke had begun teaching her soon as soon as her wrist had healed. "I've never won," she said. "It won't be fair."

"Nothing is." He snapped to his feet in one graceful movement and reached for a spare blade. "Remember that you wear your anger across your shoulders and your arms tense up before you strike."

"I'll work on it," she growled, accepting the weapon and leaving the cloak like a pool of blood on the floor.

It was a chance and it was worth trying. She concentrated on relaxing her body before each strike. The points of the double-bladed vibroblades were rounded off metal, set, at this very moment, to stun lightly, not mortally wound.

Luke danced and pivoted, his blades coming at her faster and faster_, clack-clacking_ against her own. Echani was an equally an art form, a method of communication and a method of combat. Echani philosophers believed that one's innermost feelings were revealed through the battle, that to know one fully, they must be fought - except to Leia, Luke was an enigma, indifferent, cold. It was as though all of his memories lived in darkness. Often she thought that if he could speak them aloud, expose them to the light, he might learn to be different. In battle she was no match for his expertise, for his lean, raw strength and could do nothing more than react and block him.

Finally, she caught him beneath the armpit, a vulnerable spot.

"Good," he said.

The momentary lapse invigorated him, and next he brought his blade down overhand and caught her before she could lock her elbows.

She pushed back, arms shaking with the vibroblade raised defensively. If this were a real battle, he would be prepared to yank the blade crosswise when her arms gave out. If this were a real battle, she would take the blade in the throat.

"This is how it all began," he said. "Do you remember?"

"Please." She dropped her arms when she should have ducked and twisted away from the coming blow.

Luke released his weapon before the blade could strike her and kissed her open-mouthed. She averted her face, hating that eventually her body would yield to his, just as she knew deep down that he hated needing her.

"Please, let me go," she pleaded.

He gathered and twisted her wrists together so tightly that pain lanced up her arms; she sank to her knees upon his cloak. "No."

* * *

During Leia's second to last set at the _Manarai_ the next evening, Han Solo materialized between the hanging strips of hylaian marsh bamboo that separated the lounge from the restaurant. Twice during the old-fashioned ballad _Lonely Heart Spaceport,_ she lost tempo. Quietly, she motioned to the bass viol player to end the set early, then she descended from the stage, only to find that she had blinked and Han Solo had vanished. Temporarily though, for in the darkened alcove by the lavish refreshers, where none of Xizor's holo-cameras was aimed, he cornered her.

"You look like you're feeling better," he pronounced.

"I told you never to come here," she hissed.

"I have clients visiting from Obroa-skai," he said. "It's not my fault that Xizor has a snazzy advertising campaign running on holograms across the galaxy." Han leaned back against the alcove wall. "That last song is an old favourite of mine. Sappy, but catchy."

"Why are you here?"

Frustration creased his forehead. "You didn't show last night and my comms haven't been getting through."

"I turned it off." It was hidden in a secret compartment beneath her bed where Luke would never find it, even if he were looking. Leia set her jaw. She refused to throw herself into his arms and make this easy for him. "It hasn't been safe."

"I know it's your final set. Meet me afterward."

"What about your clients?"

"They have a hankering to check out the bright lights of the Uscru District."

"Sabacc and exotic dancers. You're not tagging along?"

"You're a sure thing."

Somehow, Han managed to say that and appear both charming and blithely seductive. Anxiously, she skirted a glance towards the corner that eased into the lounge, half-expecting someone to turn the corner at any moment. "No."

"Fine then."

"Fine then," she repeated.

"I mean, fine then, I'm not leaving."

"You can't do this to me – not _here_-" A shadow fell across the floor. Leia slid her hand behind her, preparing to slip into the fresher, but she heard beeping and realised it was only a sweeper droid rounding the corner in search of ashes, crumbs and other patron detritus. Leia glared at him. "Fine. You win."

They contrived to meet several blocks away from the _Manarai_ after her last set, and after surveying the area to make sure she wasn't being watched, she slipped into the vehicle "Damn it. What kind of an idiot are you?"

"I've been told I can be as thick-headed as a bogtree and as stubborn as a clone trooper. But…" Han grinned crookedly. "I don't think she meant it."

Leia twitched with the compulsion to slap the grin off his face or grab him by the shoulders and shake some sense into him. Instead, without realising she was going to do it, she leaned her body shoulders first over the divider and kissed him so hard she bruised her lips against her front teeth.

"That was foolish," she whispered. "Foolish, foolish."

"Yeah?"

"We can't be seen together." She kissed him again, this time with her tongue, fingertips moving into his hair; he kissed her back and she felt his thumb sliding into the open side of her gown, just below her armpits, where the fabric fell apart. The expensive, woolly scent of his sweater, ale and his own male smells were almost familiar and she felt an intense rippling of sickness, different from food poisoning or illness, as though she'd just witnessed a terrible accident in the skylanes below them.

After a moment, Han said "Leia," harshly as though she was hurting him but she wouldn't release him, not until he grabbed her by the shoulders and inched her back.

"What?"

"I want you to tell me where you're going."

"I don't know where."

"When you do."

"No." She shook her head and a Jade rose tumbled from her hair. "We've been over this. If you know where I am, if my brother suspects you know, he'll _hurt_ you."

"I heard about that incident with the Kalzerian – the guy who lost his hand."

"How do you know-?" She shivered and carefully gathered up the rose so that the petals didn't fall between her feet. Luke had been drinking that night. Fortunately, the amputation had been clean and the Kalzerian had only lost his hand temporarily. "Who told you?"

"I have my sources. I mean it. At least to let me know if you're okay."

"My situation isn't as simple as you assume."

"Nothing ever is."

"People close to me tend to lose more than they bargained for," she said. "I warned you the night we met. In my experience, we believe there are choices when there are none. Choices are over-rated. I'm not going to endanger you." She licked her lips. "Maybe… I don't even know if I'm leaving now."

"You changed your mind about taking off?"

"I haven't made a final decision."

"Why?" His eyes scrutinized her closely. "What about the Emperor?"

"I've entered into negotiations that may keep him out of my life."

"Darling…" Han laughed bitterly and snorted with derision. "No one negotiates with the Emperor. Or they try and don't live to tell about it."

It was the truth. "My brother," she began tentatively, knowing that it was more than she should tell him. "My brother is a trusted member of the Emperor's inner circle. He's assisting me."

"The crack-job I met the other night?"

"I'm all he has," she protested. "Our relationship is complicated."

"Complicated?" Han's face sharpened. "You're afraid of him. I can imagine why."

Leia shook herself in a ripple that carried from shoulder to shoulder, like a wave, not caring for the direction this conversation was headed.

At the Imperial Palace, she had been restless, unable to sleep and for longer than she cared to admit she had stared at the pair of vibroblades discarded on the floor beside the bed. In the twilight before she fell asleep, her mind was often at its clearest. That night, it occurred to her that perhaps her brother wasn't deliberately cruel or unfeeling; perhaps he was like the thousands of wild predators roaming jungle planets such as Myrkr or Haruun Kal, a natural hunter and carnivore who only did what was in his nature, an animal that couldn't help dominating her because she was weaker than he.

And if that was case, than she should accept that if she ever wanted to win against him, she needed to fight him like an animal, go after him when he was at his weakest.

No sooner had the thought crossed her mind, than Luke had awoken beside her, eyes half-mast, looking surprisingly young and innocent_._ "You're not capable of murdering in cold blood," he'd said softly. "Never have been, never will be. You weren't lying. You're not like me."

Self-consciously, she tugged her bracelets down over her wrist, although the scars were only visible when she'd been too long in water. Iolu had been the same way with the questions, wanting details. "I don't need anyone to rescue me," she said, striving to sound haughty and determined. "Not you, not anyone else. I never asked for that."

Han regarded her for a long moment. His face had become tight and lethal looking "You don't need rescuing, but you need my help. You did ask for that, remember?"

Heat ran all over her body like a slow stun until even her arms were burning up and she wished the skylanes below would spread open and swallow her. _And I can't bring myself to kill him._ "I'm starting to hate you."

"And here," he said gruffly, "I was just warming up to this whole honesty thing."

Leia kept tugging at her bracelets. The airspeeder began moving again. Soon, a neon sign for Skyroute _D27C _flashed by them. She glanced down at the crosshatching traffic. The patterning was unfamiliar although she thought they'd been heading toward the Hirkenglade Prefecture**. **Between the skyscrapers, she could see the pointed pyramid that marked the Imperial Palace. She imagined the Emperor staring out his window. She thought of the Kel Dorians, struggling to breathe fifty levels below. She'd been unable to watch the newsvids for the past two days, afraid they would be covering a terrible catastrophe in the sublevels.

The airspeeder moved faster than the skylane limits. He drove wildly – she didn't remember that from the ride down from the skyhook last week. She gripped the divider so fiercely the veins of her hand swelled to life. "Where are you taking me?"

He leaned across the panelling between them and his mouth was warm and friendly against her ear, as though she hadn't accidentally confessed anything at all. "The ride of your life."

* * *

It was love and pain at first sight.

The first time Leia and _Rrakktor's Revenge _were officially introduced, the ship shocked her. She shuffled her slippered feet along the on-ramp and reached to touch the bulkhead as she stepped over the lip where the ramp and hatchway connected. The jolt, the shock, shot up her arm, into her elbow and funny bone. She gasped and yanked her arm back.

The inner corridors were matte black, and the ducts sliced open so that her innards were easily accessible. Leia ran her hand along the walls affectionately. Everything about the ship was his handiwork; it felt like him, it smelled like him. Two tie-down holsters, tops cut off, hung just inside the hatchway entrance. Han was always armed, but his weapons were usually concealed. Leia knew that it couldn't always have been that way, not if he'd lived as a smuggler and needed to appear as though he would shoot to kill on a moment's notice.

"You've done a great deal of work on her?" she observed, noting that no hired technician had ever touched this ship. "She must make .5 past lightspeed?"

"Without even a shudder. I've made a lot of modifications." He caught her elbow and began steering her directly toward the cockpit, then paused, proudly, and pointed out a large dent in the wall. "I added a ding here with a hydrospanner. And you should see what I did with the multi-tool in the starboard hatchway."

"You're prejudiced against shiny and new?"

"The dents give my reflection more character." He struck a pose, tucking his chin into his thumb and forefinger. "What do you think?"

Leia chuckled. By now, she was adept at pre-flight checks, tight manoeuvrings, basic flying and hyperspace jumps, but Han slid into the pilot's chair gracefully and with such a commanding air that Leia sank into the smaller, offset companion chair without question.

He gave her a warm smile. "She was my first big purchase after Lando and I made our major deal. I'd never bought a new ship before. It didn't suit me. I spent a year working on her. I reinforced the hull with titanium. I replaced the engines, they hyperdrive, the backup hyperdrive, added a military-class sensor system. I upgraded the weapons systems." He grinned. "My line of business came in handy. She could take out a _Star Destroyer_ if she needed to."

Leia rolled her eyes exaggeratedly even though she couldn't stop herself from smiling back. "In your dreams."

"Well…" He lowered his voice dramatically. "But I could take out the command bridge."

This time, after un-docking from the skyhook, they followed an approach and departure corridor toward the southern tip of Coruscant. The planet-city twinkled like thousands of gems. "So where are we going?" she asked.

"Just like I said." He grinned like a crazy man, eyebrows lifted. "The ride of your life."

Earlier, she hadn't been able to tell if it was an innuendo or not. Now that she knew it wasn't, she reached over and punched him lightly in the arm. "_Where_?"

"Did you know there are underground canyons – crevasses actually, under the glaciers at the South Pole?"

"No, I didn't."

"There's one big one in the Carish Glacier, a well-kept secret. Mostly thrill-seekers fly there, or pilot's wanting to fine-tune their reflexes with real practice, not sims. Since you need experience flying atmosphere, we'll call today's lesson your introduction."

They flew in low over the turbo-ski hills and resorts. Han laughed as they gained airspeed, saying, "Is this fast enough for you, sweetheart?"

Leia felt a little breathless with irrepressible exhilaration. Between the steep, sharp walls of glistening ice, the _Rrakktor's Revenge_ flew like a spire falcon hunting prey. Unlike the _Spirit of Nyenthi'Oris_, the _Rrakktor_ felt fast. There was something sterile about the _Spirit_, as though too many people had looked after her or owned her and she was forever in search of her own character. _This_ ship was designed for speed and manoeuvrability; her engines purred. Leia watched Han's gloved hands fly nimbly over the controls and longed to know the ship, to be able to command her that way; the longing was intense, like needing sex or food or air.

"Remember the night we met in the _Manarai_?" Han asked. The ship dipped deeply to avoid a bridge of ice stretched across both edges of the crevasse. He peered at her out of the corner of his eye without moving so much as a finger from the controls.

She glanced at him askew. He hadn't done any more prying on the way to the skyhook, and she'd assumed the topic had been dropped, but now she saw that his face had gone dark again. As though he was running hot and cold in short, explosive bursts. "Yes. It wasn't that long ago."

"What if I'd been someone else? Some other rich guy with a couple of ships and a skyhook."

"You weren't."

"Then it was luck."

"You hit on _me_ that night, not the other way around."

"You knew who I was."

"I knew what_ type_ of man you were," she exclaimed.

"What else?"

"I knew most of the women who dangled from your arm wanted something from you. _I_ wanted something from you." Inertia brought her heart up into her throat. She tightened her crash webbing. "You turned out to be different."

"From the others?"

The offensiveness of the question caught her off-guard. "Than what I expected."

He looked straight ahead. "What did you expect?"

"What's your point?"

"I was just thinking," he went on, "that conceivably, the only way to convince the Emperor to leave you alone would be to align yourself with someone close to him. Someone he approves of. And then, I start thinking there's probably only one thing a woman like you can offer in exchange."

He was so near to the truth that could only force herself to laugh bitterly. "Maybe I will and maybe I won't. I told you I haven't made up my mind."

Instantly, she wished she hadn't said it, for the look that settled across his lean features was so carefully composed that most fearsome species in the underlevels of Coruscant would avoid him.

"Gundarks fight as soon as they get kicked out of the womb," Han said coldly. "Cause they don't know any other way."

For the next while, he flew like a mad man, possessed. His hands moved over the controls like the talons of a deranged nashtah hound. Within the grip of the atmosphere, the ship felt different, almost alien; with the alluvial dampers switched off, the controls trembled and bucked and Leia could feel every little movement, every gravitational thrust or pull. She knew that for an inexperienced pilot, this type of feeling could be lethally misleading, that he or she might rely on their physical senses and not on the ship's sensors. Additionally, jet streams, airflows, and atmospheric storms all produced enough turbulence to send a novice pilot into a panic.

As it was, the way he was flying was nearly enough to send her into a panic.

They flew through several passes, each narrower than the last. The _Rrakktor_ spun gracefully onto her side and down, and then up again. Glassy blue walls moved by her face so fast that in her peripheral vision she saw a solitary, glistening sheet.

She closed her eyes and imagined dying down there, anonymously. Her heart lurched and hot breath exited her nostrils. Luke would never know what had happened to her. The struggle would be over and she could give up fighting Luke's threats and the Emperor's twisted promises.

Yet somewhere deep inside her, a voice was saying, _No. _

She looked up just in time to see a blur of gold rushing toward them. There was scarcely time for her mind to process that they were about to collide with another ship; the _Rrakktorr _dipped violently, and there came the terrible sound of ice scraping the underside of the hull while the entire ship vibrated and shuddered. Swearing, Han clawed her back under control.

"Stop," she shouted. "_Stop_!"

She buried her face in her hands and didn't look for what felt like an hour. The ship slowed. Shaking, she unfastened her crash webbing and made her way down the narrow corridors, hands bracing herself as though she might lose her balance or be sick. She leaned her forehead against the bulkhead wall outside the common area. It was cold, but not enough of a physical shock to purge the sense that she had almost died.

Han called after her, but she didn't answer. He came tearing down the hall as soon as the engines had whined down. "I didn't mean to scare you."

"You nearly got us killed!"

"That?" Han pointed toward the cockpit. "Sweetheart, that was child's play. You want to nearly die, try flying from a dozen Corporate Sector Authority starfighters on your ass, damaged shields and a hyperdrive that bails on you."

"This is supposed to be a training run!"

"_That_ ship didn't show up on my sensors. If you'd been paying attention you would have noticed. She must have been flying with a cloaking device."

"And you were flying with your ego," she accused angrily.

"I guess I'm a jealous man."

She twisted into the main hold so that he wasn't looming over her. "I have no patience and no time for jealousy."

His mouth softened slightly, but she could still see that he was just as obsessed with _who_. "I really scared you, huh?"

"Yes."

"I hate to see you – any woman, be in your position. If there's one thing I've got in spades, it's credits. If there's one way out for you, there's gotta be a way I can help."

"This has nothing to do with credits."

"Of course." He ran a desultory thumb across her forehead.

"Stop it."

"I mean it. You're priceless."

Leia fought off the twitch at the corner of her mouth.

"And we're good together. We have great chemistry. Admit it."

"Maybe…" Leia began, still trying not to smile. "When you're not nearly getting us killed, I might agree."

"Come to the couch-" Han kissed her gently. "Come to the couch and let me apologize properly."

The offer was too tempting to resist, shot through as she was with adrenaline after the near-collision, wanting nothing more than to fold into his arms and kiss him back.

"Only if you permit me to apologize too," she said, for a thousand different reasons, mostly because she and Iolu Praji had only discussed running away together, there were no hidden credits in offworld bank accounts and when Han had punched the access codes into the_ Rrakktor's Revenge_, she had memorized them.


	8. Chapter 8

**7**

* * *

_Dawn finally arrived on Rampa II and it signalled the end to one the longest nights of Han Solo's life. _

_It took all of his strength to heft the fifteen-kilogram blade through the air, but his target was wide and soft and the human body didn't provide much resistance. The blade sank with sickening ease. The man's body bucked violently against his restraints, but just once, and then his spine sagged. Blood gushed freely, soaking the man's pale service-tech coveralls and beginning to pool on the duracrete floors. After a moment, Han fell onto his heels, dragged the blade backward and wiped it on his trousers. Han considered removing the gag from the man's mouth, but he didn't because it wouldn't make a difference what was said. Anyway, his eyes were looking beyond him, empty like they didn't care._

"_It was me," a female voice whispered raggedly. "It was _me_. I told them about the raid. They said they were going to kill him."_

_Han had almost forgotten about the woman and then he realised her gag must have come loose. He inclined his head partway, just to make sure she was still securely tied, and gestured to the still body. "Why did he confess?"_

"_He was trying to save me."_

_For the first time in hours, his head cleared enough that he noticed the unit the couple had been renting was cramped and dirty. Built from faux-stone prefab walls that had simply been slotted together, the accommodations were damp and moist, and home to a thousands species of mould. From the looks of it, they'd been on the run for a while, renting crap-holes where the proprietors didn't ask questions and the leases were short-term. There were few belongings strewn about, just a cargo bag or two and a few disposable dishes. Life on Rampa II wasn't easy. Mining had ruined the eco-system; the air was polluted, the water wasn't potable, and the planet had stopped producing edible foodstuffs decades ago. The people who lived here now were either too poor to leave, or desperate to hide. _

_In another state of mind, it might have made a difference to him. He might have even felt sorry for them. _

_As it stood, he was only as sorry as he could afford to be polite under the circumstances. _

"_Too bad." Han stood up wearily, his blaster in his hand, shifting it slightly and pointing it toward her tousled blond head. "You should have kept your mouth shut." _

Han Solo opened his eyes. He lay in his over-sized bed carved from the darkest heartwood of an Alderaanian Kriin tree, with the only set of sheets his ex-wife hadn't wanted, in his loft in the Hirkenglade Prefecture, which was likewise semi-furnished with an assortment of cast-offs from his marriage.

("You know," his attorney had advised him. "You need to show up at the divorce mediations if you honestly expect to win anything."

"Fuck it," he had said. "Give her what she wants. I don't care.")

Even a lesser man would have admitted that the end of the marriage had been his fault. Bryn with honey-coloured, genetically modified hair, the legs that went all the way from Coruscant to the Outer Rim, and the girlish laugh that tended to dissolve into silent, gasping sputters - she'd been incredibly easy to pretend to love and so eager to love him back. In what hindsight revealed was nothing more than a burst of unrealistic, passion-induced idealism, Han had thought the marriage might change him.

It hadn't.

Han had been apathetic about too much for too long a time. It wasn't in his nature to become attached to anything.

That was precisely why Han found his ongoing liaison with Leia Organa so interesting. The woman was a puzzle, an enigma who answered fewer questions than she asked. Unlike other women, she offered few intimacies beyond her body, and didn't ask for any in return. The Corellian couldn't decide if she was a victim or a seductress, if he was taking advantage of her or she was playing him and he didn't entirely trust her, but he couldn't put his finger on why, even though he'd always had a knack for judging the trustworthiness of others. She was also as addictive as glitteryll or an Ylesian exultation, and if he believed her paranoid-sounding assurances, very, very bad for his life-expectancy rate. Their intense flying lessons typically ended with equally intense sessions of a horizontal sort in the quarters at the rear of the _Spirit_ and they were always worth anticipating.

Of late, she hadn't made the slightest effort to conceal her adoration for the _Rrakktorr's Revenge_, inquiring repeatedly after their near miss at the South Pole about the damage to her hull. The last time, Han had expressly said that no one flew her but him. She was not above using feminine charms to persuade him to let her fly it.

Leia had absorbed that with a frown, and then just as quickly, twitched her mouth into a subtle smile while she slid along the wall, her body language full of sexual promise. "If you let me fly her…" She'd smiled coyly, leaned up and trilled her tongue against his throat, then caught his left hand, peeled his glove off, put two fingers in her mouth and drawn them out very slowly. Her tongue felt like butter and wet velvet. "Anything you want."

Han remembered feeling as if his insides were falling into an abyss without the rest of his body. "You're terrible," he'd said. "Cut it out."

"Oh." Her expression had been both innocently mischievous and confident all at the same time. "But you don't want me to, do you?"

The truth was he really hadn't and he didn't. Although he knew everything that could come between men and women, the way Leia looked at him, he suddenly felt like he knew less than a mynock, and that she had secret methods to set his body afire. Whether he admitted it or not, there were days when he dreaded the possibility of not seeing her again. There were also others where he wished she would bolt, and the sooner the better, because frankly, this relationship was like a deep, jagged splinter in the ball of his foot and eventually he was going to have to rip the splinter out.

Han got up and splashed his face with cold water. They were flying again in three days. Maybe he would cave and allow her to fly the _Rrakktorr_. Maybe he wouldn't.

Just then, the holo-unit squawked from the common area. He grabbed the flat sheet off the bed, winding it about his waist like a sarong, and double-checked the incoming codes to make sure he wasn't accepting a comm from the Premier of Hesperidium. "What?" he asked irritably.

"_What_?" Lando Calrissian loomed larger than life on the holo-screen, looking decidedly miffed. "I get _what_ now. No 'good morning buddy.' No 'hey, a pleasure to see you!' Did you wake up on the wrong side of the bed?"

"I'm not awake yet." Han willed his facial muscles to relax. "What is it?"

"Can you stop by _Galactic Capital__Bank_ on your way in this morning? There's a discrepancy with the payment from _Cosmohaul Shipping_."

"I thought we had the follow up with_ Curovao ImpEx_."

"No." Lando put his fists together and pretended to strangle an invisible object. "Our damned prototype misfired yesterday and we've bumped the presentation back. I couldn't reach you last night. Again."

"Oh." The prototype had been a chronic headache for the past month. They'd commissioned a company to add their small-scale, detachable weapons to their series of bodyguard droids, but the first batch had needed its programming tweaked; apparently, so did the second batch. Han rubbed the freshly grown stubble on his chin. He knew Lando was privately irritated with his attention span of late, and too good-natured to lambaste him for it. "Sure. No problem. I'll take care of it. Buddy."

Twenty minutes later, he was freshly shaved and sanisteamed when the holo-unit squawked again.

This time it was Leia. Her voice was shaky. "Can we meet?"

"What's wrong?"

"I don't have any time left. Meet me this afternoon. At the skyhook."

* * *

They left marks all over each other's bodies as if to prove that they'd owned each other, if only for a short time.

_This is it_, Han thought. _This is all there is._

Touch for touch, motion for motion, his mind captured sounds, smells, and sensations so that he would remember. Flushed, Leia hovered above him, her body so still that it was almost frozen even though her biceps and locked elbows trembled. One of his hands cupped a firm, young breast, and the other caressed her haunches, fingers sliding over her perineum and in and out so that he could feel himself hard inside her. This last action had pushed her close to the edge; he could feel every inner muscle seizing up, and her breathing had become fragmented and broken.

"You _too_," she pleaded quietly, falling over him passively, with her arms outstretched.

Han hadn't hovered close to climax for this long since accidentally drinking a local aphrodisiac on N'van over a decade ago, and that time it hadn't been on purpose. He slid his hand from her breast to her hip, dug his fingers into her flesh and bucked frantically. In the mess of breathing against his throat, he heard _gods don't stop don't stop don't stop_, and he didn't, couldn't, because the breaking tension in his groin had cast away all vestiges of self-control along with any coherent thought.

Orgasm was raw and beautiful.

Leia shuddered spastically, and there came a gush of warmth on his inner thigh that was not him.

Han gathered her tight against his body, shifting her, folding his legs and arms around her as if he could keep from leaving by physical force. She submitted at first, but eventually he became acutely conscious of the tension and restlessness in her frame. His eyes drifted around the cabin until he located her face, resting on his chest, reflected in the glassy surface of the wall beside the hatchway. Her eyes were wide and dark and her lips pressed flat together.

Leia caught him watching her and instantaneously her face relaxed. She braced an elbow on his sternum and leaned up, peering down at him as though she could read his thoughts. "Don't make this harder than it is, Han. It's too late."

Han started to say something and hesitated. Another offer of assistance would be summarily rejected. From what he personally knew of the Emperor and from the rumours that frequently filtered through the upper echelons of Coruscanti society, personal interest was reason enough to flee to the other side of the galaxy and dig a hole big enough to hide a moon. Lastly, there was the brother. He couldn't think about him without a bolt of murderous rage shooting through him like an energy beam, couldn't fault her for escaping. "Your ship," he began. On the walk to the _Spirit_, she'd told him that she'd bought a ship this morning, but _this morning_ implied that she hadn't had nearly enough time to take care of any details. "It needs to be safetied and inspected and-"

"Done." She wiped damp, wispy strands of hair away from her forehead. "It was certified by one of the best on Coruscant."

"I still say you let me take a look at her."

"Then you'll be there when I leave." She regarded him intently. "I have a feeling neither of us is good at goodbyes. Right?"

"Right." Han stretched and tucked one arm behind his head. Despite the forced air of calm, he could feel tension-knots across her back and shoulders beneath his palm and her stomach muscles tightening against his. "You went to one of the outfitters I recommended, right?"

"Yes."

"What's the make?"

"It's an old YT model."

Han shook his head, chuckling. "Registration and pilot's licence?"

"Taken care of."

"All in a morning?" Han asked dubiously.

"I know someone at the Bureau of Ships and Services."

"Did you sleep with them?" he guffawed.

Leia smiled tightly, pried her body apart from his and headed into the fresher. "You're joking. Or, I hope you're joking because otherwise I have to slap you."

"I'm a natural kidder." Han stretched his legs, trying not to think about the danger she was facing, all of the unknowns and uncertainties. It was difficult to collect his thoughts.

"Don't get pressured into docking too quickly in the major spaceports," he called loudly. "Take your time and turn off the comm-set if you need to. Docking authorities usually make a commission on business referred to the onsite repair stations and when business is slow, they tend to create their own - they can smell a green pilot halfway across system. If you have trouble finding entertainment gigs and want to work transport, remember to never accept a job if they don't pay you at least half up front. Avoid the Abregado-rae Spaceport and places run by the Klatooinian Trade Guild – they have too many ties to the Empire. Never keep your cargo holds empty if you're hiding something."

Leia sauntered back to the bunk with her face scrubbed pink and her lips moist, her face oddly bereft of any emotion under the circumstances. He reached up and stroked her cheek. "Don't forget to wear your gloves and quadruple check your jump coordinates. Don't take stupid risks and… _ahhh_." He shook his head. When had he started sounding like someone's mother? "You're a good pilot. Remember that. Flirt to your advantage but be careful. Only play your looks if you have no other choice."

"I know," she said softly. "I'm so sorry."

Han, in a last-ditch effort to lighten the grim mood, said mock-ostentatiously, "For what? That you're leaving a handsome catch like me behind?"

"No. Because I am who I am."

"Have I complained?"

"No," she whispered. "Not once."

Han accepted the subtle invitation to yank her down so that he could kiss her again. She tasted sweet and held him down against the pillow with a surprising amount of strength. The kiss went on for so long that when she finally drew away, he felt vaguely light-headed. He blinked rapidly, trying to focus on Leia's face but there were two of her suddenly, and she was fuzzy around the edges.

"What's wrong with me? What did you do? What did you…?"

"It's renatyl." She set two fingers on wrist to check his pulse. "It will wear off in a few hours."

"_Renatyl_," Han repeated groggily. _Where the hell did she get that? _Renatyl was a bounty hunter's drug of choice. _Her lips_, he thought. _Her lips had tasted sweet. _Clumsily, he tried to swing his left arm upward and grab for her throat, but his body suddenly weighed as much as a bantha, and he could barely lift it an inch before it fell uselessly back against the deck-plates. The note in her voice that he hadn't been able to place… it had been guilt. "You… _you_," he muttered. The words came out slurred.

And then there was nothing.

* * *

Immediately, Leia rushed back to the refresher to rinse out her mouth and wash her face. The antidote she'd taken would last for a few hours, the life of the drug when exposed to air, but she couldn't afford to take any chances. Quickly she redressed, pausing to brushed the hair away from his forehead and kiss him one last time. "I'm sorry," she whispered.

Checking both ways for skyhook security (if the galaxy had an evil sense of humour, they would have sent them by at this very moment), Leia exited the _Spirit, _sealed the hatch, and crossed to the adjoining docking bay where the _Rrakktorr _was parked. She entered the security code and exhaled a long sigh of relief when the hatchway obligingly opened for her.

"All right girl," she declared, climbing aboard. "It's you and me now."

Leia wasn't actually expecting the ship to answer her, but all the same, she secretly wished she could.

Trembling a little, clenching and unclenching her fists, she padded down the corridor to the cockpit and sat down in the pilot's chair. She was exhilarated, excited, _terrified_, and incapable of thinking about what she had just done to Han Solo.

At least, not until she was on the other side of the galaxy and had time to grieve.

* * *

**Feedback me and make me happy or give me your worst. **


	9. Chapter 9

**I'm late, I'm late, I'm late. I know! **

8

Leia hadn't noticed the pieces of metal during that first flight with Han down in the ice-walled crevasses of the Carish Glacier. Half a dozen times during the hours when she was a virgin captain, she stood on her tiptoes just outside the _Rrakktorr's_common area and inspected them. The hammered, dull metal sword was firmly fixed to the bulkhead, so heavy it barely budged, but still sharp enough to slice into her skin when she pressed her thumb against it. The blade alone was twice the length of Leia's arm and nearly as wide as her palm. To the right of the sword were sections of another weapon. One piece was unmistakably a barrel and scope. The second looked like it had once been a bow; it had a lightly domed orb on one side and a sheered metal stake as though a second orb has been snapped off. Leia couldn't figure out how the two pieces would fit together, but the metal was blackened and flaking off, oxidised by open flame. Between the sections hung a long, reddish brown tuft of fur, knotted at one end into a cord. When she removed it from its hook, her nose smelled singed hair and alien smells, and later, when she flicked at a piece of lint that had become caught in her eyelashes, she could still smell the pungent odour on her hands.

"Funny," Leia said to herself, for she wouldn't have taken Han Solo for such a sentimental man.

The first official order of business was a thorough inspection and a careful inventory of everything onboard. Han's handiwork might be deliberately colourful, and several of his modifications baffled her at first, but it was good, solid work. In the galley she found enough non-perishable food supplies for a month. As far as cold, hard credits went, she had enough saved from her performances at _The Manarai_ to stay stocked up for a year.

That was if nothing went wrong with his ship.

_His __ship_, she half-thought again, before catching herself. _No, my ship_.

Leia walked the corridors and traced her fingertips over the steel plating, the open ducts, pressed her naked lips to the transparisteel portals. _My_ ship, she kept reminding herself. _My_ ship. She forced herself to repeat those two words until she believed them to be true and as the hours wore on, the _Rrakktorr_ began to feel like hers.

On the third day, she was restless, and she ran in circles through the hatchways, just to stretch her legs.

In hyperspace, a ship was safe (unless, by chance, she was flying in a heavily restricted area and happened upon an interdiction field). Hyperspace was a chance for the solo pilot to rest – no pilot could spend every waking moment in the cockpit. When she'd flown with Han aboard the _Spirit_, he'd had no compunctions about romancing her onto the couch in the main hold or into the tiny crew cabin just off the kitchen during their hyperspace jumps. Although she was habitually a logical woman, alone, her comfort levels were tentative and unsure. She was afraid to leave the cockpit for any longer than it took to use the refresher or prepare a cup of protein concentrate, afraid that some unseen calamity or spatial abnormality would yank the ship from hyperspace and that she would sleep through the alarms. At first, she slept sitting up in the captain's chair, wrapped in a heavy woollen blanket. Then she dragged more blankets from the crew cabin into the cockpit and made a bed on the floor between the pilot and co-pilot's chairs.

In the deep of space, the stars weren't anywhere near as comforting as she'd hoped.

The light burned through her eyelids and sharp nails dug their way into the flesh of her heart whenever it began to beat quickly. She saw the irises of Han's eyes. Warm gold-brown or greenish depending on the light or what he wore. He would hate her for this. The stars weren't like the wind, didn't take her words away, her apologies to Han Solo, even her apologies to her brother.

Luke. Blood of her blood, her first love even if she didn't know how to admit that to herself.

The apologies just hung in the recycled air.

She tried not to think of Luke.

It was easy to be angry with him, hate him when he was near her. Away, she would remember when it was all new, good, and clean and she didn't feel guilty and he was different.

People close to her had a habit of getting hurt. Luke should have known that better than anyone.

It wasn't Han's fault that he didn't.

* * *

On Coruscant, it was the end of the midday shift, and most of the office staff had hurried to the turbolifts and skylane transports, off toward their respective homes, families and spouses. No one saw Han Solo come in. No one saw him walk into his office and lock the door. 

It was the middle of the night by the time Lando tracked him down. The door slid open with a quiet hiss. "What's going on?" All of the lights in the office were dimmed. Han had been sitting there in near-darkness for hours. "I was just thinking about Bryn."

Lando sank into the plush leather chair opposite Han's desk, brow furrowed. The leather creaked and squawked.

"She was a sweet girl," Han said.

"That she was."

"She would have done anything for me."

"She would have," Lando agreed, slowly, as if he didn't know where this was going, and wasn't sure he wanted to follow along.

"I threw it all away. I wanted out. Frankly, I can't remember why."

"Han, are you drunk?"

"Stone-cold sober."

"What's going on?"

"She took my ship," he said.

Lando looked confused. "Bryn?"

"No." Han hesitated. "Leia." He hesitated again. "The _Rrakktorr_."

"_Oh_."

"I took her out once for kicks. She must have seen me punch in the codes. She drugged me," Han continued, "After we..." Instinctively, he slammed the memory away, slammed out sensual images and phantom sensations that would suck him in like quicksand – it was impossible to hate what you burned for and he needed to hate her. "She doused her lips with renatyl," he said stiffly. The anger was settling, burrowing into the core of his being while his outer self cooled, but still the words made hot blood rush through his veins. "I'm waiting for the reports on the transponders. I know she didn't have time to change them."

A moment of uneasiness passed between the two men.

"Go ahead and say it," Han dared irritably. "What you're thinking."

"You're just looking for something to hit," Lando objected. "It's not going to be me." He lay his large, caf-coloured hands down on the desk, like a peace offering. "Listen. If she could get her hands on renatyl, she could find someone who could alter the transponders. Her brother could get his hands on anything."

"He wasn't in on this."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

"What are you going to do?'"

"Find her. Take my ship back. Leave her to rot on whatever backwater piece of shavit she's landed."

Lando took a deep breath. "I can make a few calls."

"It has to be off the record."

"It would never occur to me to do this on the record."

Lando moved from the chair to the doorway, just as a swathe of red fabric slipped inside. Instinctively, Han was reaching for the blaster tucked into belt.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you," said the man, robes swinging over the threshold. One end of his double-bladed vibroblade was unsheathed. "If you fire from that position, it will be deflected back. I'll make sure it doesn't hit you anywhere lethal."

Slowly, Han dragged his hands above his desk. "Could you excuse us Lando?"

Lando beat a hasty retreat to the hall, then froze with his hands above his shoulders as the door closed between them. There were more of them out there. Apparently, Skywalker preferred to commit murder in private.

"Wow, an official visit from the Emperor's henchman," Han muttered. "Can't imagine what I've done to deserve the honour."

"We can work on refreshing your memory."

To the naïve, Luke's relaxed stature might have indicated unpreparedness, over-confidence even. Han knew better. He said, "She's not here and I don't know where the hell she is."

"She's left Coruscant?"

"Yes." Han had filed an official report on his stolen ship to cover his ass in case she did anything stupid, so the theft was a matter of public record. "She helped herself to a ship from my lot on her way offplanet."

"One of _your_ ships?" Luke smiled and elegantly glided into the chair Lando had just vacated, vibroblade settled horizontally across his knees. "Or a ship you gave her."

"I didn't _give_ her anything." Personally, Han Solo decided he had met assassins with kinder eyes. "I have bounties posted on her head in five systems and ten more pending. Unfortunately – or fortunately for her - I have business to take care of here and can't take off looking for her." He leaned across his desk, far enough to show he wasn't afraid. "Believe me, it wouldn't a pretty reunion."

"You're not lying."

"Why would I lie?" Han smiled tightly. "If I find her first..."

"It appears we have something in common after all."

_Not on your life_, Han thought, but arguing the technicalities of his similarities to Luke Skywalker seemed foolish. He managed to shrug nonchalantly even though he was suddenly thinking about the Kalzerian that had lost his hand.

"Can she can fly it?"

"She's a fast learner, knows her stuff. So long as she doesn't run into any maintenance trouble and try to fix it herself." Han couldn't help adding, "Apparently she had difficulties obtaining pilot instruction through the usual routes but I suppose you don't know anything about that."

"It wasn't wise of you to teach her."

"In retrospect, it sure doesn't seem so."

At that, the brother laughed.

Han fell back in his chair and unlocked his knees. Hope existed that he would survive this conversation after all.

"I will stop at nothing to find her." Luke reached deep within his robes and withdrew a small glass cylinder. He flipped the lid and extended his hand. "Would you like one?"

"Those things will kill you."

"I might kill you."

"Then I'd prefer to go out fighting with a clear head."

"I look forward to it." He withdrew a white, innocuous looking cigarro and placed one end in his mouth. He produced a lighter and inhaled deeply. Han's office filled with the sweet odour of fine narcotics and t'bac. "Tell me where she would go."

"She never said." That was only vaguely a lie. It was a big universe. She'd never hinted at an inclination toward any one place, save far away from the Core, but it wouldn't take a genius to figure that out. "She wanted to get away from Coruscant."

Luke rested his elbows on the armchair and balanced the cigarro between his fingertips. "My sister is wilful, rash and prone to making decisions on the spur of the moment, however cataclysmic the outcome might be."

Han shrugged. "I was under the impression she was running away from something that had been in the works for a long time."

"She is running from her destiny."

"Have you considered that _running_ is her destiny?"

Luke glared at him so sharply Han's head hurt.

"I'm just saying I think destiny is the path you make for yourself when you don't like what Fate has in store for you. Let's face it, people spit in Fate's face every day. If she wants to run away from…. Whatever she's facing, why not let her go?"

"There isn't time."

"Time for what?" Han demanded.

"There are many things you can never understand."

Han rolled his eyes skyward. "Answers weren't her speciality either."

Skywalker gazed over his shoulders out the window. "The view is impressive."

"It's better without the second-hand smoke clouding up the view," Han said without turning. The view of the planetary cityscape _was_ impressive but he knew better than to offer Skywalker his back.

"Where was that taken?" Now Skywalker was pointing the cigarro toward a holo mounted on the south wall. The holo was a wide panoramic view of a thick wroshyr tree canopy.

"Kashyyyk," Han answered.

"Hunting expedition?"

"Not exactly."

"You're an outdoor man?" Luke queried with an almost casual interest.

"Only by necessity."

"I spent the entire year of my training living on Yinchorr. It's in the Expansion Region, if you've not heard of it. The jungles looked just like that."

"I've heard about it," Han said. "Heard the climate is a nightmare."

"I was paired with one of the best duellers in the Core. His name was Kile Hannad. For three months we trekked together, dependant on each other for survival. My life, on a day-to-day basis, was dependant on my implicit trust in him, in my knowledge that if danger faced us, he would act, and vice-versa. On any of those one hundred days, I would have died for him without a second thought."

"How nice." The sudden jaunt down memory lane had to be a way to buy time. Or something, although Han wasn't sure what that something was just yet.

"On the final day of training, we were brought to the Squall."

"Sounds fun."

"The greatest arena in the galaxy. Friend against friend, brother against brother, sword against sword. It was our final test and only one man could go on." Luke began taking rapid short puffs, and shook his head, as if to shake away the memory, his eyes blinking sharply. "I pierced his spinal cord, just below his skull. It seemed most merciful."

"Yeah," Han deadpanned. "You're a real stand-up guy. I'm sure he appreciated it."

"That night outside _The Manarai_, after he touched her, after being escorted off the premises, he decided to wait for her. He was going to wait for her, follow her home and hurt her. I protected her."

"Who now?" Han almost asked, but the question was caught in the back of his throat.

"You were wondering about the Kalzerian a few moments ago. You see, I had to survive. I was destined to survive. Unless that was _her_ fate? To be assaulted and murdered by a member of Coruscant's lowlife."

_How did he know_? He wondered. "I wouldn't know."

"But you know many things, don't you Han? You know that she has a funny habit of hyperventilating right before she comes. You like the sound. It speaks to the primordial part of yourself that you've civilised to death. It makes you feel powerful, doesn't it, like the man you might have become, if the good Lady Fortune hadn't smiled on you, if your partner hadn't rescued you?" Luke gestured with his chin to the holo of Kashyyyk. "On bad days, you probably sit here in this office and resent him, but the truth is he didn't tame you, you merely submitted - he offered you an easy way out and you took it before the fight devoured what was left of you. She did something, didn't she? To you? Today you want to kill her, but you wouldn't be able to do it even if your pain was greater than your affection for her because you swore never again in cold blood." He started speaking fast, racing through his words, stream-of-consciousness. "But I know the wanting feels good, doesn't it? The anticipation. That's the paradox, the irony - knowing that you won't be able to bring yourself to do what you long to do. Do you feel it, when you stand here and look out that window?"

About fifty Corellian epithets were running though his head, but Han didn't move a muscle, even though every inch of his body was twitching with adrenaline. There were drugs and mind-altering chemicals that enabled their users to briefly develop heightened telepathic abilities. The death stick had probably been laced with it. "Save your drugs," he spat. "I don't know anything."

"You have a great deal of control."

"I try."

"Good." Luke smiled, eyes now bloodshot and euphoric. "Did she tell you about us?"

"All I want is my ship back," he hissed.

With a flick of his knee, the vibroblade was vertical and in Luke's hand before he'd even risen from the chair. "You know what I want." He dropped the cigarro on the floor and dug in his toe, grinding ashes and drugs onto a carpet that had taken a thousand hours to knot by hand. "I suggest you keep me abreast of any information that comes your way. I'm going to check in from time to time."

"Yeah, you do that."

As Leia's brother walked away, Han felt like a massive, claustrophobic pressure had been released from his body, one that had been building so gradually over the last several minutes that he hadn't realised it had been there until he was freed.

"_Did she tell you about us_?"

The assertion (for it was never a question to begin with) rang like the aftermath of a sonic explosion.

"I know," Han said aloud.

Then, "I knew."

"We've got a big problem," Lando was saying. He had removed his sei-weave cloak and fanned the pink-tinged haze with it. "A _big_ problem. And he left a bloody mess in the turbolift."

* * *

On the seventh day, Leia dreamed of that meeting, but in her version, she watched her brother cut Han to pieces with his vibroblade. On the twelfth day, the navicomputer warned her that the neutrino radiator was gradually losing power. The mechanism prevented the deflector shields from overloading and shutting down by way of dispersing excess energy. She knew she had to settle into a port and get it looked at. It wasn't an unexpected type of breakdown, for the radiator needed to be reconfigured every six months. 

As for the flashing vibroblade, she reassured herself that Luke was far too calculating to kill the only living connection to her, and perhaps she had only dreamed of what her brother wished had happened.

Gelgelar Free Port was a spaceport in the Outer Rim Territories, and it was there that she landed finally. The spaceport was ragged and grungy, the walls of the buildings a type of heavy-duty canvas, but the native man running the nearest shipyard repair centre was familiar with her version of neutrino radiator. He promised he could repair it within two days. The climate was damp and overcast, drifting clouds of shvash gas gave the air the rank odour of an unsanitised refresher. Roganda Ismaren would have been horrified.

It was ironic, the ease with which Leia adopted the habits of the lone spacer. No species were meant to live aboard a ship, spacebound indefinitely. In the constant warring battle between firm ground and the stars, company and isolation, neither side ever won. It would have been wiser to stay onboard the_ Rrakktorr _after picking up a few necessities, but the truth was she craved the companionship of people. Leia had never been so alone, not for days and days on end, without even the prayer of seeing another person. She donned an old shapeless jacket (courtesy of Han's closet) and tugged at sections of her hair along her scalp so that they came loose from her braids and made her look frazzled. The local tapcaf wasn't that different than the lower-class establishments she'd visited on Coruscant – poorly lit, smelling of cheap alcohol and greasy core-style food. The entire north wall was bubbled and stained with heavy water damage. The majority of patrons looked to be crewmates from the same ship, wearing beige jumpsuits with red emblems embroidered onto their right shoulders. Several local girls were making a play for them, the hems of their peasant skirts tied up, collars yanked down low to reveal pale quivering flesh, mouths reddened with berry extract, cooing under their breath. Leia couldn't fault the girls for their bold behaviour – not on a planet like this, where the measure of a woman's life was probably equal to the number of children she bore and the greatest chance of escape a besotted spacer.

She ordered a beer she had no intention of finishing and watched the tapcaf dramas unfold with detached interest. _This is no longer the illusion of a life_, she thought resolutely_, even if I have no idea what I'm doing_. No one bothered her and she had drifted off into grey, numbing daydreams with one hand on her glass when she heard a voice.

"Can I buy you a drink?"

Blinking, Leia squared her shoulder blades against the back of the booth. The scrawny young man had a broad smile that was slightly wolfish due to a pair of snaggle-toothed incisors. Unruly brown hair was determinedly secured in a bun at the nape of his neck and bound with twine. His jumpsuit identified him as a member of the larger group. "No thank you. I have one."

"You don't seem to care for it." He slid into the seat across from her, impervious to the rejection or aware of it but determined to make himself known nonetheless. He waved at a nearby, slightly unsteady robo-waiter. "Two Tatooine Sunburns."

"Do you not understand Basic?" she asked.

"You come to a tapcaf, you drink," he said cheerfully. "Or you at least pretend to drink more convincingly. Otherwise people notice you, even if you're sitting in the darkest corner." He leaned over and lowered his voice. "You're flying a flashy ship that's heavily too heavily armed to be strictly commercial. The gang has been talking about it ever since you landed. What did you park it in the first bay for? Everyone knows they charge you an extra fifteen percent to dock there."

She straightened her spine and resisted peering around the bar at the sea of beige uniforms. Bay One had been the easiest dock to park in. "Big deal. So they noticed me."

"I'm just saying that for someone who doesn't want to attract attention, you're attracting a lot of attention."

"Who says I'm trying avoid attention. Maybe I love attention."

"Maybe you do. But then I'm surprised you're sitting in the back corner of the bar." Their robo-waiter returned and placed two ruby-red beverages on the table. Leia threw a few credits on the table and the man stared disapprovingly. "And you just tipped the robo-waiter. _No one_ tips the robo-waiter."

_They can smell a green pilot halfway across system_, Han had said. "I'll remember next time."

"You'd better," he went on, "Because your ship is fracking hot."

"Thank you," Leia stammered.

"No, I mean she's _hot_. There's a Sector-Wide Port Notice out on her."

She could feel hot goose-pimples rise along her arms, sweat in her armpits – she'd tried to change the transponders using a basic slicer guide, but Han's ship had a sophisticated code in place that she couldn't break. "She's mine. I've owned her for nearly three years now."

Withdrawing a flimsy from his right breast pocket, he said, "Are you sure? Cause there's even a dead-on description of you here on this piece of flimsy."

_What would Han Solo do in this situation _she wondered? Casually, Leia lifted the glass to her lips and forced herself to take two long swallows. It tasted like pure algae sugar and alcohol but she gulped it down without a whisper of a grimace. Then she asked, "What do you want?"

"What makes you think I want something? Maybe I'm just friendly."

"Genuinely friendly people without ulterior motivations are an endangered species," Leia said icily.

He extended his hand anyway. "Jasod. Jasod Revoc. Endangered species."

"That's funny. Last time I checked, Jasod Revoc was young only in his Holonet reruns."

"My mother was a big fan."

"How nice."

"I swear on her grave." He hunched over the table. "What do I call you?"

Leia thought for a moment. "Captain Lili Renalem."

He laughed. "I thought she was tall, blonde and had a body that would make nine out of ten humanoid species swoon."

"I had my legs surgically shortened and dyed my hair."

"Ah yes." He tucked the flimsy back in his pocket.

Leia sampled a more accommodating smile, while beneath the table she swiped an increasingly damp palm over her leggings. Obviously, if the man hadn't reported her already, he had a plan in mind – something he wanted. Perhaps she should play along until she could her hands on the Port Notice. "You came over to warn me that my ship was hot and listed? Buy a round of drinks to soften the blow? See if I was interested in little portside romance in exchange for the piece of paper in your pocket?"

"I haven't decided yet." He shrugged. "I figured I'd come over here and feel you out."

"In that case, do us both a favour and keep your hands on the table."

"Hey." He wiggled his fingers, all of which were wrapped firmly around his glass. "Where are you headed?"

"I have shipping work in the Outer Rim," she replied automatically. That's what she'd been telling everyone persistent enough to ask, although the truth was, Leia didn't have the slightest idea how to obtain legal shipping work, let alone illegal. It had been one of those items she'd been trying to work into casual conversation with Han.

"_Shipping_," he repeated.

"Yes." She paused and rubbed her forefinger thoughtfully along the lip of the table. "I also trained in theatre. I worked mostly in entertainment the last few years."

"When will your ship be repaired?"

"By morning."

"So you need a co-pilot."

"No. I'm flying solo." Leia inhaled sharply. Was that the sort of thing Han had and laughed? "Where's your rig?"

"I don't have one of my own – yet. I'm just a shiphand. One of many on a small commercial transport. We're picked up a shipment of vohis mould this morning, but we're waiting on the paperwork."

"Vohis mould?"

"They say it tastes like bitter salt."

"Tried it yourself?"

"No. It smells too musty."

"You're a shiphand?" she asked suspiciously. "What are you doing with a Port Notice?"

"I have my hobbies during downtime."

"How lucky for me."

"It hasn't been officially uploaded to the system yet. That takes weeks. In a place like this…" His eyes flickered over the drab interior of the tapcaf, the ancient model of robo-waiter. "…Months."

"Then it's unfortunate we met." Leia demurely sipped her Tatooine Sunburn, let her eyes fall over his face unabashedly. "Or fortunate?"

"I know what you're thinking," he blurted out.

"What am I thinking?"

"That you've barely had five minutes to judge my character." He picked up his glass and downed the remainder of his beverage in one long swallow. Then he pointed to himself. "About me. Well, I'm not a very good cook but I know how to clean up after myself and I grew up in a shipyard and can fix almost anything. I know how to change a transponder, which I assume you would have done by now if you could. I like Outer Rim blues music, and was obsessed with the _Galactic Bandits_ series when I was growing up. I talk a lot. I'm sarcastic to a fault. My mother always told me I was too smart for my own good and my mouth was going to get me into trouble."

Leia arched an eyebrow. "You know how to change the transponder?"

"Blindfolded."

"_Fortunate_," she pronounced.

He smiled. "A job."

Obviously, his easy confidence was his key to getting people to like him. She still didn't know whether or not to trust him but the stakes in this conversation had just changed dramatically. "Maybe we can make a deal," she began tentatively. "I may have some work for you. I can't pay you in advance and there are no guarantees that I don't leave you at the next spaceport if I deem you not up to task."

"Fair enough."

"But first, I want you to change my transponder…" Leia held up her glass. "As soon as this is finished. As a measure of good faith."

"Then you'll conveniently take off without me while I go grab my personal effects."

She cursed herself for giving in too easily. "Listen, if I have to trust you…" She smiled flirtatiously. "Don't you have to trust me?"

"I suppose so."

Ten minutes later, they braved the less than fresh planetary air and made their way to the shipyard. Leia promptly showed him the engine room.

"The guy who's looking for you," he began. "He's not using official channels."

"Probably not."

"Jilted lover?"

Leia shrugged ambiguously and gestured toward the hallway. "Do you mind? I'll be right back."

On the way through the corridors, she unbraided her hair and ran her hands through it. She went into the fresher and dug out the container or renatyl. After taking the antidote, she spread an even layer of the sedative over her lips. The old tech jacket was abandoned on the fresher floor.

When she made her way back, he had one hand buried deep in the sublight control panel. "I'm almost done setting up," he said without turning around.

"That was fast. You weren't lying."

"Nope." He winked. "So what's her name?"

"Her?"

"According to the current transponder she's called the _Rrakktorr's Revenge_ but I assume you're going to want something new."

"Yes." Leia pushed at her hair so that it fell behind her shoulders. She stood close enough that her arm brushed up against his, as if to inspect the final steps. "Her name is… _The Solus Lily_."

"Feminine. I like it. It suits her." A set of green cable was now connected to the innards of the sublight engine. He plugged them in to a portable keypad and started typing. "It suits you."

"Thank you."

Even though a part of her brain screamed that he might be a psychotic killer who hitch-hiked around the galaxy stealing ships from women by offering to help them, her instincts were telling her to trust him. She should reject his offer for help but the truth was, she did need it. Although she'd thought she could handle deep-flight alone, the idea of heading back into space was unsettling. She could fly adequately, but she wasn't a seasoned pilot, and eventually something would go wrong that she couldn't handle. Besides, a partner wasn't a bad idea - a lone smuggler was limited to small time payoffs.

He had a nice laugh, an honest laugh.

_Are you seriously considering taking a complete stranger on board?_ Leia cleared her throat. "I don't have work lined up quite yet."

"Didn't figure you did," he grunted.

That was unsettling. Was she such a bad liar?

"And um… For the record… the hair is nice and all. And the lip gloss. You're pretty. But my real name _is_ Jasod Revoc and um… the rumours about him were true."

"The rumours?" The Holonet actor's life had been fodder for tabloids such as _Galactic Gossip_ and _The TriNebulon Newsflash_. When the paparazzi weren't stalking his every move, they enjoyed speculating that his one true love was another actor by the name of Mack Grane. "Oh!" She covered her mouth and almost laughed. "Oh my."

"What's so funny?" He looked as if he wasn't sure if she'd just insulted him or not.

"Nothing," she said, extending her hand. _I just don't read people as well as I thought I did. _"Welcome to _The Solus Lily_."

"Thank you kindly Lili."

"It's Leia."

"Leia," Jasod repeated, holding onto her hand tightly and looking at her with a bewildered expression. "Leia?" He stumbled backward, then collapsed against the deckplates with a loud thud.

"Oh, damn it," she muttered, seeing that his knuckles were decorated with nicks and scrapes from reaching into the engine core, for in her haste, she'd forgotten to wash her fingers after applying the renatyl. "Some mercenary you're going to make."

Swearing again, she went to fetch her new co-pilot a blanket from the cockpit.

* * *


	10. Chapter 10

I am slow... **_  
_**

**Other people**

**_Bracha e'Naso_**

She was a tiny, bit of a thing but she marched off her gem of a ship as if she was the Queen of Hapes. She said, "I'm Nyeve Antilles, Captain of the _Solus Lily_," as though her name alone granted her the right to march into any space station in the galaxy and demand attention.

_Esau's Ridge_ was concealed within the deepest crevasse of the planet Tholatin. A very exclusive group of smugglers, perhaps a few hundred within the entire galaxy, knew of the smuggler's base. A formidable sanctuary, the _Ridge_ was virtually undetectable from air and impossible to reach on foot. Sandstone catacombs and caves offered natural havens, and deep within, living areas and even entertainment areas were carved. The_Ridge_ was also the _de facto_ head of operations for the_Smuggler's Liaison_. Jobs came in and were parcelled out. Smugglers were free from Imperial entanglements, the chaos of major trading centres such as Abregado-rae, and the reach of the Hutts. Bracha e'Naso ran the tight-knit operations on _Esau's Ridge_ and he made a habit of knowing everyone who flew into his hangars. He didn't know this woman, didn't know how she'd acquired the coordinates or the access codes, and he wasn't easily impressed by anyone, even if they carried him or herself with the air of a queen.

Now they stood in his office just off the grand catacomb that served as the _Ridge's_ main hangar and he intended to get some answers.

"Who sent you?" he asked.

"No one," she exclaimed. "I'm looking for work,"

"I've got no work," he replied.

"I heard you do. Medical supplies to the Outer Rim settlements."

"Medical supplies," he repeated curiously. Those runs were low risk and low profit, and there wasn't much payoff unless a smuggler was in the business of helping people out of the goodness of their hearts. As it so happened, he'd been foisting the unpopular runs off his newest recruits. "Who told you that?"

"I'll take the jobs," she said.

"Like I said, I have no jobs to offer you."

"I'll still take them."

"Why, you're a presumptuous woman."

"Everyone needs to start somewhere," she said matter-of-factly. "Don't they?"

Most female smugglers were tall and accentuated their curves, but she'd covered herself up in a heavy over-sized flight jacket fastened from the jut of her chin to her knees. One side of her hair was tied back in a knot atop her head. The rest of it fell down ramrod straight over the faded jacket, dark as night. The accent was Coruscanti; her vowels rose before every consonant and were clearly pronounced and indicated that she was well educated. Her fingernails and cuticles were clean and scrubbed. She was nothing like the women from out here.

And she was staring at him straight on.

Bracha e'Naso would have grown to be a handsome man, but as a teenager, the right side of his face had taken the brunt of a blow from the poisoned talons of a desert dragon. Although there'd been a state-of-the-art medical facility within a day's journey from home, his parent's hadn't had the credits to pay for bacta treatment and skin grafts. Most of his adolescence had been spent learning to live with his scars and developing a thick skin.

"I like knowing where my smugglers find their sources," Bracha said gruffly, hand casually resting on his hip. "It makes me feel uncomfortable when I don't. It means my business is compromised and the livelihood of everyone who works here is compromised."

"You don't have a leak," she asserted.

"Your being here is evidence that I do."

"I can't reveal my sources." She took a step forward. "You don't have a leak. I can assure you of that."

"Captain Antilles-" Bracha crossed his arms. "If you don't have a name, I don't have any work for you." He waited. As soon as she confessed her source, she would escorted off base with the promise that next time she came flying within a thousand kilometres of Tholatin she would be shot down. That was merciful considering the beating he'd given to the last hotshot novice smuggler that had pulled a stunt like this. And her source, whoever he was, would be blacklisted from _Esau's Ridge_.

"I see." She swallowed tightly. Perhaps she read the threat in his eyes; perhaps she realised she'd pushed as far she could. "You're right. I should seek work elsewhere."

"Yes." With a flick of his index finger, Bracha summoned two menacing-looking Weequays from a darkened doorway. "Please escort the Captain to our prehistoric version of a brig. Let her out when she feels more communicative."

Before the sentence was out of his mouth, the woman whipped out a double-ended vibroblade. "You may as well send me on my way. It won't make a difference. I won't talk."

Bracha rolled his eyes._ Hadn't anyone searched her? _"You'll have learned a valuable lesson."

The vibroblade spun so that both razor sharp ends flashed. The Weequay hung back, waiting for further orders.

"Not to ask a man with an honest reputation for a job," she said. "Some lesson."

Bracha paused. Truth was he admired her guts. He was a good businessman who prided himself on being fair, and although he believed rights to work at _Esau's Ridge_ had to be earned, he wasn't against giving the odd rookie a chance. If he could teach them and teach them well, it meant he was connected to the roots of his organisation. Besides, she was asking for the lowest paying job and she obviously knew how to keep her mouth shut. He'd already heard her ship was a beauty, the exterior was in tip-top shape, and it wouldn't hurt to have a smuggler who could fit in at a few of the finer worlds and look respectable.

"Maybe we can do some business together," he said. "If you put that thing away."

Slowly, she deactivated the weapon and tucked it under her jacket. "So you_do_ have work?"

"You start at the bottom."

"Medical supplies," she said persistently. "Those are the runs I want."

"Why do you want those runs so badly?"

"It's a badly needed service."

Well, that simply made her an idealist. She'd get over that in a few months. "I pay fifty percent up front. The rest when the job is done. That's standard in the industry."

"Accepted."

"Come on," he said, pointing to the passageway outside his office. "Have a seat while we go over the logistics of how this operation works. Would you care for something to drink? Water? Our set-up isn't particularly fancy, but we have the best of the best when it comes to small comforts." He gathered a glass from his personal cooler. "In addition to brokering fees, we run our own private insurance. Some smugglers complain it's a fancy way of stealing credits from your pocket, but if you ever lose your cargo, you'll be covered."

"Are the insurance fees based on the value of the actual cargo?"

"No." He saw her face pucker and quickly said, "You might not think that's fair now, but wait until you're transporting priceless artefacts."

"I'll take your word for it for now."

"Oh, and yes, you need to submit your ship to an inspection before we can insure you."

"Of course." She reached inside the oversized jacket and withdrew a small comlink. He gestured for her to go ahead. In a low voice, she said only, "It's me. I'm meeting with Bracha now."

"We're clear?"

"Captain's honour."

"In that case I'm going to go tinker with the-"

"Jasod." The news caused her to pause. "Don't change anything until I've okayed it. Ready the ship for inspection."

"Yes, Captain."

The woman closed her comlink. "Where were we?"

Bracha noticed that she was better looking up close than she was at a distance. She had a beautiful face, like an angel, clear skin, well-proportioned features and warm eyes – a pity they were hidden under all the hair. He wondered if she'd been born into money, if she was some sort of heiress from a core world who'd had enough credits to buy a top-of-the-line ship, but not enough left over to buy herself a route or two.

"That's quite a ship you flew in on."

"She's my baby."

"The great smugglers swear by their Corellian ships," he said, "and care for them the way a lover would"

A flicker fell across her face. "They're worth every credit."

Bracha chuckled to himself.

She reached for her water. The climate inside the catacombs was hot and humid and condensation beaded down the side of her glass. Her fingers slipped and squeaked. "Have you ever heard of Han Solo?"

"Yes."

"I heard he lost his ship."

"His ship and his co-pilot. Deal gone bad in the Corporate Sector. He was hired as a gun for a liberation group and they were betrayed. Someone inside the liberation group tipped off the Espo. They were ambushed. His co-pilot and ship was shot down coming over a ridge trying to rescue them. He was taken in Espo custody for a time – they'd been on his tail for years and near about killed him." Bracha frowned sympathetically. He'd born a grudging respect for the Corellian. He'd been a damn good pilot, damn good smuggler. No captain should lose his ship and crew like that. "The people involved… You don't double-cross a man like Solo."

"No," she agreed, prompting after a moment's reflection, "The Wookiee? Odd choice for a co-pilot."

"Can't remember his name." It had been difficult for most to pronounce. "Solo saved his life in that dream of a military career he had and he swore to stay with him after that. Solo couldn't shake him, no matter how hard he tried."

"What happened after that?"

"He went all official and proper, setting up business with an old friend on Coruscant." He caught her studying the scarred side of his face curiously as if the sudden ending to Solo's story bored her. Her jacket had come unbuttoned without his noticing, fallen to the side so that he was the only person with a clear view of what was underneath. Underneath, she was far from prim and proper, bodysuit cut low over high breasts. "Coruscant," he repeated. "Ever been there?"

"Once." She snapped one leg over the other, gracefully, like a dancer. "Were you a smuggler? Before taking over operations here?"

* * *

_**Jasod**_

"That was easy."

"You think?" Leia asked, as she strode passed the marbled walls and up the _Solus Lily's_ onramp.

"You don't?"

"They didn't fall for our cover," she said, pausing to rest her hand lovingly on the curve of the _Lily's_passageway. "Home again."

He frowned. "Really?"

"When the Baron took the necklace off, he accidentally missed my cheek and kissed me on the mouth." She raised an eyebrow and offered her forearm. "A little more physical contact wouldn't hurt. I promise I won't be offended."

"Maybe he thought you came with the necklace, Captain" he said idly, although Leia looked nothing like a starship captain in her current getup, which consisted of a black evening gown and lacy open toed shoes. Fancy dinners weren't his thing, and to tell the truth, an unusual means of delivering a thousand year old necklace in person. Jasod loosened his tunic, untied his hair and ran his fingers through it until it was back to its usual status of casual disarray. Then he checked the hyperwave receiver, which was blinking desperately. "There's a message from Bracha."

She tipped the credit sac upside down and poured the contents onto the table. "What does he say?"

"It's short and sweet, as always. Dates and times. I suspect it's secretly in regards to the dinner invitation you keep rejecting."

A tidy fortune lay before her and now her fingers were busy counting credits. "Hm," was all she said.

"Is it all there?" he asked.

"Yes. It's local currency." She sighed. "We'll have to drop out of hyper when we reach the Sesswenna Sector and change it to Galactic Credit."

Even though she was pretending to ignore him, Jasod said, "You're not doing much to dissuade him from attempting to parlay a sleeping arrangement into a formal relationship." Although she rejected all would-be suitors, human and otherwise, that came sniffing within ten feet of her, she'd quietly slept with Bracha on at least five occasions - which he _knew_ of. He suspected it was more than that, but Leia was skilled at laying low and keeping secrets.

Leia looked over at him with blank incomprehension, as if he'd just uncovered a nest of fuzzy alien mammals in an engine duct and she didn't know quite what to say.

"Captain?" he prompted after about ten seconds.

"I was trying to remember you being subtle, even once."

"Hell no. It isn't my style." Jasod grinned. "That was just in case you didn't realise."

"Look, I don't want to feel like I owe him anything," she said, sweeping the credits back into the sack. "Or vice-versa."

"Is that why we turned down the job to Ralltir?"

"No." Leia replied, slipping the fine material of her gown up over one leg and untying the small, discreet holster from her thigh. "We turned down the job to Ralltir because I'd prefer to stay away from the inner worlds. Besides, Bracha doesn't work that way." She paused to hang the holster from a peg. "For the record, I haven't said a word to you about Maniid."

Maniid was another fair-haired smuggler who worked for Bracha and Jasod's current romantic obsession. Maniid was fond of B'ssa Nuuvu Jazz, Chiss philosophy and his rear end was sexier than that of Staive Pedsten, one of the greatest zoneball players of all time.

"You two are going to be seen canoodling in his cockpit if you're not careful," she warned.

"_Canoodling_ in his _cockpit_," he repeated, mock-seriously. "Is that what you call it on Coruscant?"

"Jasod." She waved her finger, eyes flashing merrily. "_Don't_ make me laugh. I'm just saying that if you're not careful, Bracha is going to know who gave us the coordinates to the_ Ridge_."

Jasod leaned against the partition that divided the lounge from the galley and cocked his chin. "Bracha is so sure that you romanced them from one of his regular smugglers, he won't blink if Maniid and I are seen together."

"He's very clever," Leia insisted. "Don't underestimate him."

"I'm very clever too," he insisted. "You missed Maniid and my carefully orchestrated 'meeting' last week in the slava pit. It was quite convincing. We pulled out all the stops. Everyone will think we met there, fell in love…" He waved his fingers in mid-air. "_La-dee-da-da_and all the rest"

Leia shook her head. "An order is still an order."

"A request is not an order," he countered.

"It was an order."

"Not if you begin the sentence with 'would you please."

"Why is it you're incapable of recognising that I'm the captain and you're the co-pilot?" Leia demanded indignantly.

Jasod pretended to think about. "I've seen you naked?"

"That was by accident. I didn't know you were onboard. What happens if it's a matter of life or death?"

"I can hear the difference. You get that edge to your voice. Like that time at the Baroonda spaceport when the security guard called the_ Lily_ a piece of Corellian trash and you told him to go to hell. Did you see his face beneath his visor? He was shaking in his boots."

"Oh great." Leia looked less than thrilled. "I get an edge." For a change, she let him have the last word, pivoting on her pointed heel. "I'm going to do the pre-flight and get us out of here."

Fifteen minutes later, they were clear of Axxila and on their way back to_Esau's Ridge_. Soon he was working on a particularly stubborn, un-cracked, backup security system that was the bane of his existence and singing a catchy folk song that invaded his mind like a parasite. Heavy clunking burst out of the cockpit in spurts, but he didn't investigate until it sounded like Leia might accidentally injure herself.

It turned out that Leia was struggling to free a section of the alien weapon from the bulkhead. The task was proving to be a challenge, since the sections were bolted to the wall so securely they wouldn't come free even during the most violent exit from hyperspace. So far, she'd only succeeded in cutting down the pelt of fur, which was draped over the back of the co-pilot's chair like a messy stole.

"Skrag, you should have asked for help," he said, stepping through the hatchway.

"I want to take these down," she huffed, "And… and put them in the starboard smuggling compartment." With a clang, the piece in question fell back against the wall. "Ouch!" She stared at her fingertip and grimaced. "They're too much of a curiosity."

Leia was strict about who she allowed onboard, almost to the point of ingrained paranoia. "Has anyone asked about them?"

"No one yet." She stuck the bloody fingernail in her mouth to avoid touching her gown. "But it's possible that one of these runs we're going to need to take on a passenger. I can ban them from the cockpit, but there's still a chance they might wander in here by accident and see them."

"I see hunks of a broken weapon and hair," he said. "Nothin' else."

"Well…" Leia had withdrawn her finger from her mouth and now she blew on it. "They're pieces of a Wookiee bowcaster and ryyk blade."

"You think someone could I.D. the ship because of these."

"If we're incredibly unlucky, yes. I probably should have done it sooner but I didn't want to take them down… out of respect."

"Respect?" The Port Notice with which he'd attempted to blackmail her back on Gelgelar Free Port had identified the ship, the _Rrakktor's Revenge_, but the name of the vessel's owner had been conspicuously absent. "For the man whose ship you stole?"

"Believe it or not, I have a feeling all this is worth more to him than his ship." She grimaced. "Put it this way. He _might_ kill me for taking his ship but he _would_ kill me if anything happened to these."

It was difficult to discern unless you knew her well, but there was a definitively wistful note to her voice. As though she'd subconsciously wanted to be caught all this time. That insight took Jasod by surprise. "Why did you go through all the trouble of changing the transponder, of hiding out here if you wanted him to find you? You could have contacted him-"

"_No_." The force of her voice seemed to surprise even her. She folded her arms across her chest, goose pimples rising on her biceps as though the cold of space had penetrated the ship's hull. "It was for his own protection. I'm moving on. I'm sure he's moving on too."

"Or still searching for you."

"If he was, believe me, he would've found me by now."

It had been eight months since they'd met in Gelgelar Free Port, and four since they'd landed at _Esau's Ridge_. By now, Jasod knew the facts and details that could be scrawled on a piece of flimsy. The _Solus Lily_ had belonged to Leia's previous lover, although most of the time, Leia regarded her previous ownership as an incidental historical fact. It was a form of slightly delusory logic with which Jasod never argued. Leia had also let slip that she had a brother, a man who was threatening, abusive and had left some part of her fundamentally damaged. The damaged part hadn't been put into words exactly, but Jasod knew, because damaged people were hypersensitive to damage in others, the same way the odour of sweetspice alerted Toydarians that they were within a kilometre of another Toydarian. He never asked her about it – partly out of respect, mostly because he had the feeling she would tell him the truth, and he knew he'd rather fire a low-powered blaster at his foot and watch the flesh burn away than talk about the harvest seasons on his uncle's farm.

Sometimes, she said that her entire life until now had been a bad dream and he understood.

Jasod made another guess. "This isn't about passengers, is it? It's about Bracha. He would know this ship was stolen if he saw them." He gave the largest piece a heave, sinewy muscles straining, and it popped free. "You're saying yes to dinner."

She climbed into the pilot's chair and began studying the console readings as though she wanted to do anything but have this conversation. "I haven't decided yet."

If this was about Bracha and the two of them ended up bonded, she wasn't going to need a co-pilot. He chaffed inside at the thought, only because self-preservation ran so deeply in his blood. "Hey. I'm sorry about Maniid?"

"No. It wasn't fair of me to request that you avoid him at the _Ridge_ to begin with. And if Bracha and I are going to stop hiding what's going on between us…" She frowned down at the controls and squeezed her eyes closed as if forcing pain from her mind. "I just don't want to hurt him."

He reached down and gave her shoulder a reassuring squeeze. He'd long since learned that sarcasm and light-heartedness were the best way to draw her out of the most melancholy mood. "My grandmother always said if you say something often enough you'll make it true, good or bad. So you should shut up."

"Wise woman," Leia chuckled.

* * *

_**Lando**_

They were out on the pretence of a dinner, sitting at a table that would have seated ten even though they were only six.

Personally, Lando would have preferred to dine at a more prestigious Coruscanti eatery than the _Golden Cuff Tavern_, where everything was overly shiny and superficially bright, but Talon Karrde preferred to keep a low profile whenever he visited the Core. And, as he was on Coruscant negotiating a new weapons contract with _Calrissian-Solo Munitions Inc._ on behalf of the _Smuggler's Alliance_, it was important that they keep him happy.

Tonight Talon also had company, although at first glance, she was too tall and too good-looking for a man like Talon. Her hair was flame-red, the type women either loathed or envied, but he doubted she gave a damn. Lando had caught her scanning for exits when they entered the restaurant - he'd noticed Han making a scan out of the corner of his eye and automatically looked to his left and caught her doing the same thing. She'd immediately seen that he caught her and her eyes had narrowed like a hawk, and then she'd turned to Talon and smiled like a brainwashed starlet. Lando had a feeling he never wanted to meet her in a dark alley.

"One of my ships recently made a pit-stop at _Esau's Ridge_," Talon mentioned offhandedly.

"How is old Plothis?" asked Han.

"Deceased."

Lando asked, "What happened?"

"He was shot by an angry squib."

They had a moment of silence. The holographic advertisements on the casino level kept getting picked up by the chandeliers and were refracted like broken rainbows in every which direction. Lando let himself be distracted.

"Well, how is that ball of rock holding up without him?" Han continued.

"Business is good," Talon replied. "Bracha e'Naso's taken over the day-to-day operations."

"Pretty Bracha? That bastard." Han laughed. "He did always want to get out of the field and he loved to micromanage."

Talon chuckled. "I hear business is better than ever."

"Bracha even has a woman in his life," Marellis said, dropping into the conversation for the first time of her own accord. "Says he's going to make an honest woman of her."

"Good for him." Han sipped his whiskey. "And he swore he'd be a bachelor forever."

"So did you," Talon said, nodding to the willowy beauty on Han's right.

"It was temporary insanity." Han reached for Bryn's hand. Bryn reached over to tuck a wayward curl back into Han's hair.

"Very temporary," he repeated and raised his eyebrows.

"I'm still shocked," Lando said. "And your beautiful wife must have temporarily been out of her mind." _Again_, he thought privately.

"Oh, she is." Han held up his glass. It twinkled beneath the extravagant lighting. "To my wife. Who is beautiful, kind, patient, understanding, and everything I don't deserve."

"Hear, hear," Lando agreed and everyone at the table raised their drinks.

"It was spur of the moment," Bryn explained, running a self-conscious hand through her shoulder length hair. "We didn't want to make an event of it"

"It is an event," Shasheva insisted, laughing. She folded her napkin and laid it across her plate. "Let's go celebrate by trying our hand at the Jubilee Wheel."

Lando yanked a thousand credit marker from his pocket. Shasheva Astopone, socialite, heir to the Aspotone's family fortune, looked at him with one brow raised. "If you give me a solitary cent, I'll be insulted."

"No insult intended," Lando said. He watched as the women headed toward the flickering lights and ornate chandeliers of the gaming floor. Shasheva, ten years his senior, had exotic eyes, black hair, tawny skin and sleek, full red lips and was often mistaken for being part Lorrdian. Of course, she'd feigned shock at being invited to such an establishment, but secretly loved every second of it. She hated the emperor and loved the finer things in life. She'd taught him much over the past several years.

Lando turned back to Han, freshly curious. "What happens with your penthouse?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well, Bryn won it in the divorce proceedings. And the shuttle too."

"Yeah." Han made a gesture with his hands that indicated he thought Lando would need to be committed in the near future. "I moved back in a few weeks ago. And I _suppose_ I can fly the shuttle from time to time if I ask nicely."

"I still can't believe you didn't tell me."

"You've been busy."

"Not_that_ busy-"

Marellis arched an eyebrow in mock amusement. "You two actually _do_ sound like an old married couple."

"Think so?" Han eyed her with derision. "Why don't you buy us a drink to celebrate sweetheart."

"I never buy men drinks."

Lando could see that Han was on the verge of making a cutting remark. Marellis didn't just have the air of a skilled fighter; she carried a subtle air of arrogance that was slightly off-putting.

Fortunately, Talon intervened. "My associate here has information for sale."

"Does she?" Han asked sarcastically.

Talon lifted his fork to his lip. "She'd like to barter." He took the last bite of vege-steak and swallowed. "And she drives a hard bargain."

Han sat back in his chair and flopped his hands across his lap. "Barter about what?"

"Your ship," Marellis replied.

"I_have_ a ship," he said.

"The one you lost."

_Lost_? Lando looked at Han, half-expecting him to spring from his seat and demand she tell him what she knew, but Han's face had gone unreadable and still. Their meal was moving in slow motion – at least it seemed that way to Lando. The restaurant was crowded, but the din of the other patrons faded to a dull hum.

Almost a year had passed since Luke Skywalker murdered the night guard and left his dismembered body in the turbolift. Han hadn't spoken of Leia Skywalker since that night and never spoke of what went on during those minutes in his office when he and Skywalker were alone. Lando knew better than to ask. As for Leia, she hadn't turned up on any radars _on_ or _off_ the record.

Immediately afterward, Han had dipped into a dark period. He'd had lost weight and his face had become was lean and angry, the way it had been after he lost Chewbacca and the _Falcon_. He'd become unreliable, more days than not, arriving late to the office, his face shadowed with stubble and his eyes bloodshot from drinking too much. Calrissian had been on the verge of telling his old friend to take time off when Bryn reappeared on the scene. She'd been a godsend. This time, perhaps, she'd saved him from himself.

But Talon was a free-floating nucleus in the midst of the galaxy and eventually, everything passed through his head of command, even knowledge of ships that were better off lost.

"How much?" Han asked.

"I want a new set of turbolaser cannons."

"Is that all? This better be good." Han flashed his best fake smile at Marellis. "What do you have?"

"The latest smuggler at _Esau's Ridge_," Marellis replied. "She flies a flashy ship. A _YT-2400_, as a matter of fact. Sound familiar?"

Han's eyes narrowed sharply. "What else?"

"She calls herself Nyeve Antilles," Marellis continued coolly. "Her ship is called the _Solus Lily_."

Han cleared his throat. "I'll spot you the cannons on one condition. I want you to give me one of your runs to the _Ridge_, up-to-date codes and all." Marellis began to make a face, but Han cut her off. "Just one run. Just one run so that I can fly in there and verify this for myself."

"There's no need," she said when he finished. "I can give you the details of her regular routes, coordinates, estimated shipment dates and all. If you pull into the _Ridge_ as yourself, you'll lose the advantage of surprise."

"All right then." Han sat back in his seat and folded his arms behind his head, mouth tightening, furrows deepening. "If you want the latest firepower, it'll take about a week. I'll deliver them to the _Smuggler's Alliance_ in person. I'd like to see what kind of operation you have going."

"Han Solo" Talon said, making his voice atypically dramatic. "Are you thinking of getting back in the game?"

"Temporarily. I need a real vacation."

"Listen to him," Talon said, jerking a thumb toward Lando. "I've got men and women doing their best to eke out a living and he wants a vacation. Tell him he's an artefact and he's better off retired."

"Oh, he won't listen to me," Lando said grimly.

"Do you two ever shut up?" Han demanded. "I'm still in my prime."

"Do we have a deal?" Talon asked. "Is everyone happy?"

Marellis shrugged. "The latest model?"

"I wouldn't dare to pull a fast on you," Han said.

Talon held his arm out to Marellis. "Let's go try a round on the wheel."

Once they'd left, Lando tapped his fingers impatiently against the table. This day had been coming for a long time. Maybe he knew it. Maybe he didn't. He didn't want to ask the obviously burning question but he didn't have much of a choice. Business was business. "How temporary Han?"

"I don't know." Han idly stirred his drink with a silver tipped toothpick. "Draw up the paperwork and pick a date you don't want to see pass. If I don't make it back, you can buy me out."

"What about Bryn? Your wife?"

"This is something I need to do. She'll understand."

Lando wasn't convinced she would. "She knows about Leia?"

"She knows about my ship," Han answered shortly. "I want my ship back."

"It might not be her."

"It's her," he insisted. "_Solus_ is Mandalorian for alone."

"That could mean _anything_," Lando argued.

"It means one thing," Han insisted.

In the background, the gambling sirens rang as though someone had won big.


	11. Chapter 11

**_I'm late again. I had hoped to have more time with this chapter and do some more tweaking, but I am going away for the summer and ran out of time. Pardon my late replies to everyone who was kind enough to comment._**

_Chapter 10_

* * *

****When Han Solo saw Leia Skywalker for the first time again, she was riding a second-hand Zephyr-G swoop across a shipyard on the mining planet of Drogheda. Her hair hung in jagged points and she wore a fawn-coloured bodysuit over which was a loosely belted linen tunic. On her right thigh, she wore a blaster in a small tie-down holster. Dust and dirt streaked her forehead and cheeks, but like a masked animal, the areas around her eyes and across her nose were clean. Her mouth curved in a pleased line as she neared the ship, as though she was happy to be back.

From his vantage point in the _Rrakktorr's _cockpit, Han saw she and her companion nose the swoops toward the rear of the ship. The swoops length and inability to turn into the corridors dictated that they load them on and off the _Lily_ by way of the freight elevator that lifted directly into the largest cargo hold, instead of the main boarding ramp. And the freight elevator could only be opened from inside the ship.

It was perfect.

Han had a few seconds to wonder which of them would come on board first. The hatch opened, and one stun blast at point-blank range later, her companion lay slumped in the main corridor. Han quickly dragged his body into the galley then headed for the cargo hold. He activated the freight elevator and plastered himself against the exterior wall so that she wouldn't glance up and see him.

Leia shouted after a moment, "I thought you were going to give me a hand!" Then she grumbled something under her breath, and activated the lift from below.

As she rose into the cargo hold, Han aimed his blaster at her to make sure there were no misunderstandings. Then he said in an overly civilized tone, "Hello. Leia. Lusa. Nyeve. Whatever it is you're going by these days."

"_Leia."_ She climbed off the swoop with the grim expression of one facing an Imperial firing squad. "You're onboard my ship."

"Oh, that arrangement was temporary. You didn't override all my security systems, Sweetheart, just most of them."

The expression on her face revealed that she knew exactly to which security system he referred.

"Oh, and while you were out today, I installed a few extra specialties." He grinned madly. "My favourite is the thermal detonator linked to the sublight engines. Enter the wrong password and 'poof'. Now turn around. Keep your hands where I can see them." He jammed the blaster between her shoulder blades and patted her down. "So, does Bracha know how you obtained your ship? You are aware that smugglers don't take kindly to ship-thieves."

She scowled over her shoulder. "What are you going to do?

"For starters, I haven't decided whether I'm going to kill you or not."

"You won't kill me."

"Don't test me so soon." He angled his blaster toward the main corridor, figuring he could cuff her to the co-pilot's chair in the cockpit. "Move it."

They were about two-thirds of the way to the cockpit when he made a mistake and lowered his arm. Leia had been watching the shadow of his reflection ahead of her on the viewport. She dropped low and flailed her fist backward at his groin, but he saw her swing and managed to pivot sharply and lean over so that the blow caught his pelvic bone by the slenderest of margins. The punch he delivered with his right hand was pure, irrepressible instinct. She hit the corridor wall and stumbled off-balance just beneath the arch of the doorway that divided the cockpit and access corridor. He managed to fall on top of her and pinion her arms to her sides before she could swing at him again.

"Damn it," he swore. "I had a feeling you wouldn't make this easy."

"Why would I?" She was breathing like a trapped animal beneath him. "You're hurting me."

Splotches of half-smeared blood decorated the deckplates. Cautiously, he pushed up and kept his blaster on her while she moved into a sitting position beside the captain's chair. Blood trickled from the corner of her mouth and her cheek burned scarlet.

"You hit me in the face," she said accusingly.

"You tried to punch me in the balls."

"Where is my co-pilot?"

"Well I didn't kill him," Han said. "Yet."

"What are you going to do with us?" She jerked up her chin. "Are we prisoners?"

"I'm debating whether or not I should bring you back to Coruscant and have you arrested or leave you here. Of course, you're a _very_ resourceful woman." Han raised an eyebrow. "I'm sure you'd find your own way off this planet. I would even bet credits on it."

"We have a run tomorrow," she said pleadingly. "Medical supplies for settlers. Vaccinations and antibiotics against scurrier disease, petal fever, Affliceria, dantari flu."

"That's not _my_ problem." Han shrugged impassively. "Bracha shouldn't have hired you."

"There are children there," she said plaintively. "_Please_. Go look at the crates piled up in the smuggling compartments."

He'd already found and examined the small fortune of vials, powders and injectors marked _Imperial Medicines_. "What makes you think I give a damn?"

"Because you offered to help me when I was on Coruscant." Her expression was growing more desperate by the second. "I never wanted to hurt you. I didn't have any other choice. I had to leave when I did. I told you as much of the truth as I could. "

"Yeah, well you're certainly one hell of an actress," Han drawled sardonically. "You just made up a few details, like having money stashed offworld. And fucking me before you drugged me and took off with my ship. That was a very nice touch. In fact, I think it sums up my memories of you rather succinctly. You know, you and your brother are more alike than I thought. And unnaturally close, according to him."

She didn't flinch, but had the grace to appear chastised, almost. But apparently, Han hadn't searched her all that thoroughly, because Leia had found something he'd missed. She scrambled away from him holding a tiny vibroblade out, but as he brought the blaster up, she changed tactics and drew the blade against her own throat.

"_Hey_," he muttered. "Let's not do anything crazy here."

"Crazy?" she hissed. "What would you have me do? You've commandeered my ship and have me at blaster-point. I _won't_ go back to Coruscant."

"I'm not here to take you back."

"But he probably knows you're here."

He held the blaster on her. He was sure she was only bluffing. "No one knows I'm here."

"You could have been followed." She sounded panicked, hysterical even, and looked frantic, her bleeding lips drawn back from her teeth. She held the vibroblade close enough that he could see her jugular beating beneath the blade. It would cut like butter.

"I wasn't." Han wondered if this wasn't a trick, if she was terrified that Luke Skywalker was cloistered in another part of the ship. "I'm not working for him. Put that down."

"_No_."

"I'm putting mine down. _See_." Han crouched and set the blaster across his knees in an effort to look less threatening. She was like a trapped animal, pretending to be tame and docile but he knew if he went near her, she would attack. "I know he's cruel. He carved up a man that worked for me."

Her face paled and her mouth became a taut line. She was breathing hard through her nose and a sliver of blood had formed beneath the triangle of vibrating metal. "How can you be sure?"

"Because I'm good."

"But you can't be sure."

"You're going to have to take my word for it." Han hadn't planned on a suicidal standoff in the cockpit and he was all too aware that Jasod would probably wake up soon. "You know what," he bluffed, "If you want to kill yourself because you think I came to take you back, go ahead and do it right now. Because I'm not turning you over to him or any authorities. As far as I'm concerned, possession of this ship is between you and me, and now that I have her back, you're free to go. Walk off the ship."

Leia calmed long enough to consider that. Then she asked, "Then why were you waiting here?"

"Huh?"

"If you're not going to kill me or bring me back to Coruscant and all you wanted was your ship, why didn't you take off a few hours ago?"

"Well I wanted to say my piece."

"And that was it."

Han couldn't remember if he'd thought about killing her or not. It might have been the plan the day Talon gave him the information. "That was it."

Leia set the vibroblade beside her booted foot. Her arm trembled as though she were a hundred years old. She leaned her head forward and put it between her knees. "Can I ask you for a favour?"

_You have some nerve_, he wanted to say but he couldn't. "Maybe."

"Fly my co-pilot and me to a more populated world. One with interstellar banking so that I have access to my accounts and one for the _Ridge_."

Han didn't say anything.

"She's yours Han." Those three words pained her. "You win."

"You're just saying that because I have the sublight drive booby-trapped."

Leia shifted her gaze nervously to the blinking orb attached to the main console. "From where I'm sitting it's quite clever and effective."

Han leaned over and picked the vibroblade up off the deck. It was slick with sweat. "Where'd you have in mind?"

"Tyne's Horky."

"It's controlled by the Hutts," Han said.

"I know."

"It doesn't have much in the way of major financial institutions either," he pointed out. "There are far more urban worlds I could leave you on."

"They have one," Leia countered.

"_And_?" Han prompted.

"That's where our next delivery was scheduled," she admitted weakly. "Look, the ship may be yours, but the cargo doesn't belong to either of us. If you're taking the ship, you either have to make the delivery yourself or bring the cargo back to Bracha." Her eyelashes fluttered. "If you just take the cargo and leave, they'll assume I stole it."

He didn't say anything because technically, she had a point. Taking back his ship and screwing her over was one thing; screwing over the people waiting for the medical supplies was completely different. Actually, even screwing her over didn't sit well with him – Bracha wouldn't put a death mark on her head necessarily, but there would be enough of a bounty to attract a handful of second-rate bounty hunters and second-rate bounty hunters tended to have a lot of unfortunate accidents.

"Please?" The hint of desperation in her voice was growing. "I won't try anything."

"All right. I'll take you. But we need some ground rules." Han stood up and got a fresh grip on his blaster "Before I spend another ten seconds with you, I want the renatyl."

To her credit, she didn't pretend not to know what he was talking about. "I don't have it."

"Oh, I'm sure you do."

"I swear I don't. I used it all."

"On-" He pursed his lips and spoke in falsetto. "_Who_?"

"Another…" Leia faltered. "Smuggler."

"Hmm." Han scratched his head dramatically. "I can do the math. It only takes two or three drops to knock out a grown man. Usually, you'd need to buy enough to fill a vial. And since I'm assuming you didn't purchase three drops, I'm sure it's in here." Earlier, Han had searched through her both the head and her cabin thoroughly, but there were too many jars of ointments and lotions and make-up for him to determine what was what, although he'd ruled out anything that smelled floral or expensive. After more thought, he'd decided it was the type of thing a woman, particularly a woman smuggler, would keep on her or with her personal belongings. "Should we grab the packs from the swoops and search those first or play strip-search? Ladies' choice."

Leia shuddered indignantly. "You can't be serious."

"I'm not talking out loud just to hear myself. Oh come on," he said. "Don't look so modest, I've seen everything you've got."

"Fine." She shifted one shoulder. "It's in my bag, in the storage compartment of the swoop."

"Lead the way."

Back in the cargo hold, she withdrew a slender case from the rear compartment of the swoop. Carefully, she selected a durasteel vial with a stopper inserted. "That's it."

"I'm going to go out on a limb here and guess the antidote isn't triple-sealed. Dab some on your skin."

"Then I'll be unconscious."

"That's kind'a the point." He raised an eyebrow. "It'll make it easier for me take care of a few errands. And we'll be even. This is where you find out if you can trust me."

"What about my co-pilot?"

"He's not part of this deal."

"Please. They're expecting both of us."

"Ten seconds," Han threatened. "If you don't, I'm going to stun you and leave you unconscious in the shipyard."

* * *

_It could be worse_, Leia told herself when she awoke. They were in hyperspace and she was still on board the _Solus Lily_, supine on the bunk in the captain's quarters. Her mouth felt like it had five wads of cotton stuff in it, her bladder hurt, and her dust and sweat-stained clothing were growing out of her pores. An ancient pair of binders chained her to the bunk. Still, Han had kept his end of the bargain.

She shouted hoarsely. Han took his sweet time walking from the cockpit to her quarters. Gone were the fine clothes and air of money. Instead, he wore a faded white shirt and black trousers with gold piping running outside the legs. A low-slung holster dangled from his right thigh, but it was empty; the heavy blaster was permanently fixed between his thumb and fingers. He looked dangerous and angry and like the stories Bracha told her come to life.

"Where is my co-pilot?"

"You mean Jasod?"

If he knew his first name, that was a probably good sign. "Is he all right?"

"Did I beat him senseless and leave him on Drogheda, you mean? No. He's locked in the cargo hold. We're scheduled to reach Tyne's Horky in three hours." Han raised one eyebrow. "He's very talkative. He's brought me up to speed on all of your most recent adventures. For future reference, resisting interrogation is not one of his natural skills."

"I'm sure you instilled the fear of the gods in him." Jasod's first line of defence was his natural likeability and quick wit. She'd never seen him throw so much as a punch and doubted he could withstand so much as having the hair pulled from his calves. She rattled the binders. "Could you undo these?"

"Not-" Han tapped the carbine of his blaster against the hatchway for emphasis. "- until we discuss how you're going to behave."

Leia exhaled with frustration and blew a stray wisp of hair form her eyes. "If by _behave_ you're alluding to housebroken then since this is now your bed I should warn you-"

"-Fine." He undid the binders, grabbed her left arm, hauled her roughly off the bunk and pushed her down the passageway toward the main head. "Go do your thing. Leave the door ajar."

She was so dizzy she could barely stand. She relieved herself, then tried to stand and wound up sinking into a puddle on the fresher floor.

Han ducked his head in. "It's a bitch, isn't it?"

She took a deep breath and tried to pull her thoughts together. "Yes."

"By the way, you smell like you were running sewer garbage."

"Bantha bile," she said. Bantha bile was a hot commodity on the black market. The thick black liquid supposedly enhanced virility and fertility. It also smelled like a rancor in heat. One of the containers leaked when she and Jasod made the transfer on Drogheda. In fact, she had been looking forward to a long hot shower and fresh clothes when they arrived back at the ship.

"Try a shower," he said, ducking back out.

Under the thin stream of water, she found a patch of synthflesh fixed to her neck. She crossed _Han Solo is going to kill you_ off her mental list of worries. That still left _losing ship_ and_ losing livelihood_, both of which were doozies. Han wasn't going to change his mind about his ship, and even if she magically conjured a new one out of thin air, she didn't dare return to the _Ridge_. Now that Han knew who she worked for, her brother might be able to pry the information out of him. Trying to resign herself to a number of unpleasant facts, she wrapped herself tightly in his old robe and exited the fresher.

He was waiting with his weapon in one hand and a steaming mug in the other.

"I'm not armed," she said. "You can put that thing away."

"That's your opinion." He stretched out the hand with the mug. "Caf?"

Warily, Leia accepted. "I want to see my co-pilot now."

"Right this way."

Jasod lounged idly on a storage crate with his feet propped up on the seat of a swoop. He didn't have a mark on him. Remnants of the galley's fresh food supplies were scattered across the decks, picnic-style. "Hey Captain," he said.

Relief flooded her body. Leia looked at Han. "So um… did Jasod go over the specs with you?"

"He said we've got to set down about five hours from the settlement. You two were supposed take the swoops the rest of the way, meet up at the rendezvous point and deliver the medical supplies."

"Yes." Tensions between the settlers and Hutt government on Tyne's Horky were at an all time high. Recently, a series of embargos had been enacted preventing the settlers from receiving offworld foods and supplies. It was better to avoid attention and set down far from the city, but not so close that they would give away the location. "It should be simple enough."

"Your co-pilot said you haven't made this run here before," Han informed her, as if she was ignorant of her own recent history.

"No." Jasod looked at her, mouth slightly agape, as if on the verge of arguing that Han was treating them like five-year olds who were pretending to be smugglers for a day. Leia shrugged back at him helplessly. "I might have mentioned it if I'd been conscious."

The ice faded from Han's eyes, but just for a moment. He looked like he felt accidentally committed to the delivery and considered that all her fault. "You and I will go. I'll pretend to be Jasod. Jasod, you'll stay with the ship."

"I thought you would fly away once you dropped us off with the swoops."

"That was my original inclination." Han swung a leg over the seat of the second-hand Zephyr-G, testing it out. "You don't pull a fast one on a Hutt. They'll contract scouts to be on the lookout."

Han certainly sounded like he knew a lot about Hutts.

"Oh," Leia said as she took a sip of caf.

* * *

The delivery went off without a hitch. Their contact was a man with a long nose, black eyes, and greying temples. His clothes were in desperate need of mending, but he was smiling gregariously as they transferred the medicines from the swoops to his trailer. After he paid them, he invited them to dinner back at the village.

"I'm sorry but we have to-" Leia began.

"Please. We've been awaiting your visit," the settler said excitedly. "We killed a roba."

"A what?" she asked.

"It's like a giant boar," Han said. "Red meat. It's quite tasty."

Leia held up her hands. "I'm not the one in charge of this operation."

"Right." Han pondered the situation for a moment. Then his mouth twitched, and then he snapped his fingers as though he'd reached a decision. "I'm hungry."

* * *

The temporary village was situated toward the mountains in the south. An even temperature wind ventured down across the rocky deserts, so warm it didn't cool him, but not warm enough heat him, and it made him feel like he was walking against a thick cushion of air, and he could hold his fingers out and let it envelop him. The wind smelled faintly of burning Cu-Pa bantha dung, which wasn't pleasant, although Han was getting used to it.

"This feels good," she said. "Admit it."

"Huh?"

Leia sounded a little drunk. Come to think of it, so was he. The settlers had welcomed them like heroes, fed them a feast that included roba roasted on a spit, rose-coloured root vegetables and sweet bread. They had also pushed a local moonshine on them that settled in the pit of his stomach like burning embers. The settlers had then convinced him it was too dangerous to ride back during the night. Now they headed to their temporary quarters.

"Doing something worthwhile," she clarified. "Helping."

For the umpteenth time that day, Han wished she exhibited less of a sense of compassion for others. It made it difficult to stay angry with her. According to Jasod, Leia was a terrific captain, fair but firm, ethical, and in general, a saint deserving of his mercy. "Are they always this happy to see you when you make these runs?"

"Once in a while." She inhaled deeply. The odour of the burning dung didn't seem to bother her. Han pictured Bryn turning up her nose left and right, covering her face with one of her silk scarves. "Don't get me wrong. I never expect this much gratitude. I would do it even if they were suspicious and kept their weapons aimed at me."

And he knew she both meant what she said and didn't; the alcohol was making her a delusional sort of idealist in the heat of the moment.

There were two beds in the hastily assembled shelter. The ceiling was a wood a-frame held up by sturdy posts, but the walls were made of Cu-pa skins, and the beds rested on low platforms along the sides. Presumably, the settlers had sought to avoid having to ask if they were together. In a depression between the beds was a small generator, fortunately not dung burning, from which emanated a soft, radiant heat. Someone had foreseen that they might want to wash up, and placed a ceramic pitcher of water and basin on a makeshift table at the head of the shelter. They each automatically selected a bed, she to the left of the skin-draped entrance and he to the right. She set down the red wooden cup, a hand-carved gift that she'd been carrying for the better part of the evening, removed her flight jacket and laid it across the dingy, careworn blankets. Then she moved to the basin and began washing her face and arms.

Han hitched up his pants and sat down on his bed. It didn't have much give to it, and his back cracked loudly, protesting against the lengthy swoop ride.

Conversationally, she said, "I've been wondering how you found me."

"I have a lot of connections," he began, but then he shook his head and studied the mechanics of the tiny generator. A large battery powered the device. "It was a fluke. Someone from a larger operation passed through the _Ridge_ and recognised you after the fact."

"Oh. I guess I'm not as good as I thought."

At that, Han chuckled. "No one ever is."

His laughter inadvertently broke the tension that had existed all day.

"I've heard you were great." She wiped her arms and face on a towel; damp strands of hair plastered themselves to her forehead and cheeks like sticky vines. "I've heard about your Kessel Run record and the way you flew at the Battle of Nar Shaddaa. That was the only battle the Emperor ever lost."

"It's a good thing people on Coruscant have such short memories," he said. It would have been terrible for business if they didn't. "My turn. So how in the galaxy did you manage to wind up at the _Ridge_?"

"My co-pilot is having an affair with one of Bracha's smugglers."

"That's brilliantly convenient."

"Yes it is."

"He told me he tried to blackmail you."

"On Gelgelar Free Port. The neutrino radiator went before I changed the transponder." She began unplaiting her hair. "He got his hands on your Port Notice." Leia chuckled to herself. "A_ job_ on my ship was what he wanted."

_The Solus Lily_, Han thought. What a crazy, feminine name for a revved up ship. "You were lucky," he managed to say.

"I was. He's been like a brother to me."

"I see," Han said, because it was a mother of an opening.

Leia caught on to her mistake and widened her eyes. "We're not sleeping together. The smuggler he's having an affair with has more muscles than you and drinks his Gizer straight out of the pitcher."

Han grinned in spite of himself. That explained why he'd caught Jasod staring at his behind.

She shook out the flurry of tresses that reached nearly to her waist, then sat down and began removing her boots. "Han, you of all people should know that we do what we need to in order to survive."

"Are you alluding to ship-stealing and drugging?"

"Subtle?"

"No."

She tossed a dusty boot by the foot of her bed.

"So you're saying that the end justifies the means?"

"I'm suggesting that sometimes there's no other way."

Han felt his face tense up. "That ship meant a lot to me."

"The _Solus_ _Lily_ means the _universe _to me," she declared passionately.

"The _Rrakktor's Revenge_," he corrected. "She's not yours."

Like a stubborn child who wasn't getting her way, Leia tossed the second boot angrily at its mate. "What will happen to her now?"

"She'll go back-"

"Be parked on the skyhook?" Leia shook her head vehemently, as though picturing the ship decaying beneath layers of rust. "She_ needs_ to fly."

Han snorted. "Sweetheart, the first time I flew a ship you were probably still in training pants."

That got her to shut her up – at least temporarily. She dug around in her bag for a clean tunic. A few moments later she asked, "How's your bed?"

Han realised he had been fumbling with the laces on his boots for several minutes, staring at them, not seeing them. He'd tried not to watch her change but his peripheral vision had picked up pale skin flashing. He wasn't surprised Bracha e'Naso, magnate, had fallen for her and even though the temperature inside the shed was quite warm, he felt suddenly cold with jealousy. "How is Bracha?"

"He's been good to me. He wears his scars on the outside." She peered over the stove. "Why don't you ask what you want to ask?"

"About what?"

"Luke."

"He enlightened me."

"Yes, it's true. I chose to become my brother's mistress rather than the mistress of a decaying man ten times my age."

He heard the bitterness in her voice and remembered that the terror on her face yesterday had been genuine. The self-inflicted vibroblade cut along the side of her throat was real too. That didn't help the conflicted knot that had been building in his gut all day, the one that said maybe he should cut her some slack and try to understand what she'd been through on Coruscant. "And Iolu?"

"Was my lover and he was murdered."

The unpleasant knot in his gut kept growing.

She came over to crouch beside him and sat on her heels. "Yesterday, you had your say. Permit me mine." She took a deep breath that lifted her breasts. "I am sorry that I hurt you. I am sorry for the way I left you and for stealing your ship. Once you offered to help me and I refused and now I have no reason to expect it. I can only ask your forgiveness." Her gaze drifted to the generator and the shadows on the floor. "I could lie to you and say that I never loved Luke but I did. I can't ask anyone to try to understand and not judge me for it. I didn't realise how damaged he was until it was too late." She paused. A warm finger brushed against his cheek. "Are you over me yet?"

_You so know better than to fall for this Solo_. He had predicted this moment; he just hadn't predicted the mixed feelings. "Honey, if your grand plan is sweet-talking me into bed in the hopes that we can work out some kind of deal, forget it."

"Would that be so terrible?" She smiled. "Sweet-talking you into bed, I mean. I remember how it was between us. That was real. I'd rather touch you than talk about him."

"That's funny." Han rolled his eyes. "I don't recall giving you permission to do either." He wondered if he should tell her about Bryn, but it didn't seem right, because technically, he hadn't told Bryn about Leia. So he said, "Look. You stole my ship. You royally pissed me off. Ten years ago, I would have spaced you for it without a second thought, taken a nap and dreamed about a vacation on the beaches of Togoria. In case you're having delusions, I'm not about to give you my ship in exchange for an apology and a mind-blowing fuck."

"Who said this had anything to do with your ship?" she replied innocently.

"One plus one equals two horizontal bodies and something you want. That's how you work."

Leia wrinkled her forehead delicately. "You're such an idiot."

Han pointed at her. "And have I mentioned your seduction skills are sorely lacking?"

"_Mind-blowing_," she queried liltingly. "Is that how you put it?"

"That was merely a figure of speech," he returned. "Don't get cocky and take it personally."

"I thought you would appreciate an apology that was more personal." Emboldened, she placed her forearms over his folded elbows as though she were pinning him down. "Isn't that how _you_ work?"

Everything below his neck was apparently delighted at the prospect of being molested by a scantily clad woman. "It's all chemistry and pheromones," he managed to say.

She kissed his throat, using her teeth and lips and tongue, and Han was so hard between his legs it was almost painful. "_Hey_," he said gruffly. Belatedly, he knew he kept avoiding the word _stop_ on purpose.

"All right." Leia reclined back on her heels again and closed her eyes. Her thighs were longer and stronger than he remembered. "Play this your way Solo. Tell me you don't want me and I'll go back to my side of the..." She looked up at the wooden ceiling. "Whatever this is."

"Tent-shed," Han decided.

"Oh." She stared above her head. "I suppose it is."

Han released a long breath, unable to make a decision. The relaxed shape of her body in her long tunic, legs bare, was posed submissively, as though inviting him to touch and he couldn't bring himself to say or think anything that didn't end with her sprawled naked in his bed. His right thumb had a life of its own. It played with the hem of her tunic, sliding it back along her thigh until he could see pubic hair.

She removed her tunic. Beneath the garment, she was nothing more than mysterious singer from the _Manarai_ who'd convinced him to give her flying lessons by astutely concocting the means to modify the hyperdrive on a YT-series freighter. Patches of her forearms were tanned where the wind had blown her long sleeves back during the ride. She was still beautiful all over, still sensual, just a trifle harder.

He reached over and laid his hand on her stomach. The muscles beneath her skin felt like live wires aching to twitch in fifty different directions. Then he thought, "What exactly do you think you're going to gain by this?"

"I don't know what else to give you." She dropped her gaze. The light caught the sheen of her eyes and the moistness of her lips. "And _damn it_, I've missed you."

_What the hell_… Han leaned over and kissed her roughly. Then his tongue found the cut on her lip sustained during their skirmish yesterday and he tried to be gentler.

"You don't kiss me as though you hate me," she said smiling softly.

"I'm more of a masochist," he joked. Han squirmed away from the edge of the bed, shoved aside the coarse blankets and started removing his clothes as fast as he could. He would worry about everything else tomorrow. "Get in."

It didn't feel like any time had passed. The sounds she made were guttural – not pretty, not dainty - but she clutched at him with both hands and knees and his blood roared in his ears. He remembered having sex with her like this on the _Spirit_, fast and furious in a race to finish before the ship was scheduled to come out of hyperspace. They weren't in hyperspace, but Han was afraid one of the settlers would hear a noise and drop in uninvited to see if they needed anything for the night, and he really didn't want to be discovered from that particular angle.

Much, much later, as the din of the festivities died down and her breathing evened out, he wondered when he'd become the type of man who would cheat on his wife.

* * *

The next morning, Leia smiled and said farewell to the settlers and said nothing to correct their assumptions that she would be returning in a few months. She didn't know whom, if anyone would be making the next run. They loaded their menial gear onto the swoops. Four hours later, they were back at the _Lily_.

He collapsed ungracefully into the pilot's seat and ordered Jasod to do the pre-flight and then set course for Drogheda. Leia tried to make herself useful but there just wasn't enough room on the ship for two captains so she gave up and sat behind them in the passenger chair. Tyne's Horky faded away and then the throbbing vibrations of the sublight engines washed up her tailbone.

When they'd made the jump to hyperspace, she crept to the main hold, wondering if she should be packing, but she couldn't find any empty crates so she slumped in the flight chair mulling over her limited options, wondering if last night had been the beginning or the end. The there was still an incredible, electric pull between them, but beyond that…

Down the corridor, Han and Jasod chatted with the relaxed intimacy of old friends. She tuned in to the conversation.

"Anyone can see you need an interpreter," Jasod was saying.

"You have no idea what you're talking about."

"Yes I do."

"She drugged me," Han was saying with a touch of exasperation, as though they were arguing a point.

"Me too," Jasod replied. "So there."

"But I thought…. Ah, don't even answer that. I should have taped your mouth shut. Take over for me, will you." Seconds later, Han ducked into the main hold. "Eavesdropping?" he asked.

Leia regarded him blankly. "Why are we going back to Drogheda?"

"My other ship is there."

"The _Spirit_?"

"Yeah."

"Oh." All this time, she hadn't wondered how Han had made it to the Outer Rim. She wondered if he had hired someone – he wouldn't be able to fly two ships back to Coruscant by himself.

"I have a proposal for you." Han cleared his throat. "Ill sell you the _Spirit_ for the going market rate."

The exhilarating thrill of hope began to run through her veins.

That was not taking into account her modifications or the fact that she's been well outfitted. "That's-"

"A generous offer," he finished. "Everything considered. You always handled her well during your lessons."

"I don't have enough in my accounts," she admitted. Even if she and Jasod were to go in together with everything they had, it was barely twenty percent.

"I already figured that. I'll spot you the total sum up front." He examined a scraped spot on his elbow. "It'll be a loan. You can pay me back in instalments."

It was a good deal, a million times better than culling together their savings and scouring the junkyards, finding a dealer who wouldn't pull a fast one on them and a loan shark without a reputation for leg-breaking. On the other hand, if she were paying him back in instalments, that mean he would be staying in contact with her, at least electronically. That could be tricky. "We'll have to be set up so that the payments can't be traced," she pointed out.

"Easily doable," he said, sounding this type of arrangement wasn't new to him. "We'll use aliases and a bank that has no branches on Coruscant or the Core. I'm going to be flying along the Perlemian Trade Route from time to time. I'll check in."

She furrowed her brow, analysing that. "What else will I owe you?"

"Nothing."

"Nothing," she repeated suspiciously, wondering if offering her the _Spirit_ had been the backbone of his plan all along. "Certainly, you've considered that when you show up back at Coruscant with the… _Rrakktorr - _even if you managed to get away this time - my brother has probably kept an eye on you."

"She's always wanted to be black. I'll stop off, change the registration and transponder. Give her a name that's a little less _feminine_."

Leia felt confused. "Two days ago I thought you were going to throw me out an airlock. Now you're essentially giving me a ship."

"And you want to argue about that? Some people might call that crazy." He pointed toward the cockpit. "Your co-pilot would call you crazy."

"I need a clean slate," she said awkwardly. "With you."

"I believe you." He ran his hands through his hair, which was windblown, snowy-grey with dust, and standing rigidly on end. "I also know if you could go back, you would do the same again because he's insane and dangerous and hell, I don't know what you went through. Maybe I don't have it in me to forgive you, but I figure just because a pitten bites when someone jabs a stick at it doesn't mean it should be punished."

"Am I the pitten?"

"You had a raw deal on Coruscant." He sat down at the table. "You have – what did they call it - the Force-blood in you because of your father. The Emperor wanted to keep you under his control." His eyes were earnest, gold, green, and brown. "I guess… I don't really understand what went on with you and Luke..."

"I felt powerless for so long," she replied. "Now I'm not. I'm starting to forget. Out here, flying, I'm just like anyone else. It doesn't matter who I used to be or who I belonged to before."

"You know," he said conversationally. "Nine out of ten smugglers are running away from their past."

She stared at his knuckles. The instinct to touch him was strong. Without thinking, she reached over and slid her palm up over the fuzzy, wiry hairs of his forearm. "Then I'm just another faceless statistic."

"Look…uh…" Han glanced at her hand on his arm, looking freshly conflicted and uncomfortable. "I know we haven't gotten entirely caught up and you have something going on with Bracha."

She ceased the motion abruptly below his elbow. "You have someone."

"I have a wife."

The meaning of the word _wife_ filled her mind in increments. She heard herself keep talking. "Oh, you married again?"

"Yes." He paused. "She's my previouswife."

"Did you change your mind about the nagging?"

"You remember that?" He rubbed his chin.

"Yes." Every second of their time together was etched into her brain.

"I had my reasons last night," he explained. "You had yours. If everything were different…" He made a regretful face. There was a finality about his words that hadn't been there before. "Leia, this is the best I can do."

"I understand. You came for your ship. Now you have her and it's time to go home." The trained actress inside her smiled at him reassuringly. "I need to go discuss your offer with my co-pilot."

"Sure."

Trying to quell the unexpected disappointment in the pit of her stomach, Leia headed down the access corridor and discovered Jasod grinning like a deranged Twi'lek, spinning the co-pilot's seat from port to starboard. The primary console was open and their hyperspace log was onscreen. He had half a dozen data discs spread across his lap. It took Leia a moment to realise he was busily copying the ship's records but she still said, "What are you doing?"

"Oh, uh…" He looked up guiltily. "I copied most of our files yesterday while you were making the run."

"You _knew_?"

"Yes. But no… he told me the other night."

"When I was _unconscious_?"

"Don't be angry." He took one look at her face and said fast, "I pitched the idea to him the other night. He said if I played along until after the delivery he would give it some serious thought."

Leia couldn't decide if she should slap him or hug him. "Anything _else_ you need to tell me."

"The thermal detonator is a fake." The console ejected a data-disc and Jasod placed it in a compact file-folder. "Oh, and I think he genuinely still cares about you."

"Except that," she said.

Jasod peered up at her conspiratorially. "Then the only thing left to say is that I am solidly in agreement with you about his behind."

She shook her head and folded her arms across her chest. "I never said anything of the sort."

"You did that night we drank Reactor Cores on El Talil."

She laughed so hard, so unexpectedly, that she choked. She pressed the heel of her palm against her mouth hard, begging the tears not to come. They came anyway, running into the corners of her mouth, between her lips, and finally, onto the deckplates of the _Lily's_ cockpit.


	12. Chapter 12

_Chapter 11: Luke_

The first time an adult Luke Skywalker set eyes on his twin sister, he assumed she was an angel or a goddess, a dream from his past come to life in the flesh. Except, she wasn't any of those things, not in the psych ward of the Coruscant Center Hospital with a five inch gash trailing from the base of her palm to the middle of her forearm and the sickly sweet scent of bacta clinging to her skin.

However, as far as infatuations went, he was instantly hooked and there was no undoing it. It was only logical that he would invite her to live with him. After all, he was her only living family, she had few friends, and Etti Durasha, the nearest thing to a mother she'd had, had passed away two years before.

They traded life-stories, small gifts, and as the days wore on, more and more affection to make up for years of missed closeness. Luke felt moved to unprecedented acts of kindness. He promised to take care of her, to protect her. He advocated on her behalf with the Emperor and obtained funds so that she could attend university. In the privacy of his small apartment, he began teaching her how to use her Force abilities and fight Echani-style. He knew his feelings for her were strong when she dared to accuse the Emperor of terrible things and he wanted to believe her. The profound sense of isolation and emptiness that had plagued him through his youth and teen years lifted. He felt whole.

One day during an Echani training session, Leia came down hard on top of him. The straps of her thin shirt fell over her pale shoulder and strands of hair spilled free from her temples. She'd laughed giddily because she'd nearly overpowered him for the first time. On impulse, he'd caught the back of her head and kissed her. Unlike other women Luke had known intimately, Leia was inexperienced and naïve and the sensation of his lips against her own had so shocked her that she had frozen all over like a snared creature. She'd mumbled something about being desperately thirsty, extricated herself and fled for the kitchen.

He'd lain on the floor alone and hungered for a trembling body that begged for his touch without ever forming a single, solitary word.

Afterward they didn't speak of it, but deep down, Luke knew she had been waiting for it to happen, dreaming like a schoolgirl that it might happen and like him, now she was caught in the same moment of wrong/right and something else, something far more seductive. He was a tightly wound coil of sexual energy and power and now her scent, the undertones of her voice, the feel of the skin on the back of her hand, all these things consumed him. The inevitable transpired during another of their sparring sessions. Again. And again. Sparring became more like foreplay, the sex a ritualised submission.

Eventually they shared a bed without pretense and acknowledged what it was that they were doing. They discussed leaving Coruscant and seeking a far away world where they could live as lovers openly but the thorny issue of how to extricate himself from the Emperor's service plagued him and the Emperor refused to release Leia as his ward which meant she had intergalactic travel restrictions imposed on her that were second only to those imposed on paroled criminals and could never leave Coruscant.

It was summer when Luke's orders to report to the Imperial Royal Guard Academy on Yinchorr arrived. Leia pleaded with him not to go. That was the year that the planetary Wildlife Commission convinced Weather Control Network to begin the Coruscanti summer early in order to boost the number of eggs lain by the native hawk-bats. Luke missed the extended summer and the next. The long year of training was gruelling. Memories of his sister sustained him.

When he returned from Yinchorr, no sooner had he disembarked from his shuttle on the Emperor's skyhook than a messenger had approached him with his first official assignment. It had been blessedly simple, a straight hit on a man guilty of funding the burgeoning rebellion. The target met him in the underbelly of Coruscant; he'd been tricked into believing he'd be meeting with a false identification supplier. Luke extracted no useful information, killed him precisely as detailed in the message, and then dumped his body in a gutter.

Only later did he learn that the man was Iolu Praji.

Naturally, he was jealous and angry upon learning she'd taken another lover but he reasoned that she would turn to him for comfort and then everything would be as it had before he left. She didn't. Instead, she refused his offers of comfort and touch and withered away, a pale figure within the shell of a body. He tried to be patient. A month had passed. Then two. Then three. She was still his angel, his goddess, his _Leia_ but she sleepwalked through day to day life and wept when he couldn't see her. She claimed that he'd changed on Yinchorr and it had hardened him. The Emperor told him she would betray him eventually, that she was as deceptive as she was beautiful. He gave him holograms showing her and Iolu Praji making love and talking about leaving Coruscant.

Something in him had snapped. It was never the same between them after that.

"Protector Skywalker?"

"Hm?"

"His Majesty is ready to see you."

Slowly, Luke turned away from the windows overlooking Coruscant, aware of the lower guardsman's nervousness. The Emperor did not like to be kept waiting by his insubordinates. Luke smiled with a touch of superficial charm and motioned for the guardsman to lead the way.

The Emperor's chambers were dark and smelled disconcertingly sweet, like sickness. The Emperor was dying.

It was poison. There was no antidote and no way to reverse the degenerative effects. During his meditations, Luke marvelled that Palpatine had not rooted out the dark malignancy within himself. He assumed that the drugs' initial effect – forgetfulness, disorientation – struck before Palpatine was aware and could see to prevent further damage. Now, feeble-minded and confused, the aging regent was unable to concentrate long enough to heal himself. The Dark Side did not lend itself to healing.

"My boy…"

"Yes Master."

"Have you uncovered anything?"

Luke's sole assignment over the past month had been to investigate the source of the poison, but so far all leads had turned up nothing. At least, those he had interrogated had had little to reveal, even under the pain of torture. They either provided information which was inaccurate, or died swearing they knew nothing. "I'm still searching."

"And your sister? "

"My sister?"

"She's coming to dinner?"

The Emperor was lost in time again. "She'll be here," Luke lied, smiling reassuringly.

"You must not allow your feelings for her to prevent you from your duty. Your father was the same way. Conflicted, easy to manipulate. His feelings for your mother made him weak… in the end."

"You said he died a hero."

"Yes." Palpatine was smiling, almost childishly, his hairless, mottled skin paler than the silk of his pillow. "Yes, that's correct."

Luke wasn't sure what it was he had just uncovered, a lapse in the Emperor's recollection, one more sign the end was near. Palpatine, ill, paranoid and fearful of power-mongering, had dissolved the Imperial Senate. Soon the Imperial Ruling Council would remove him from power and Luke had little doubt they would be easy to control. Eventually.

Then he would become Lord Skywalker. Luke mused over the possibilities as he stepped outside the Emperor's bedchamber. A slight figure darted from the shadows of the corridor.

"Luke?"

"Roganda."

"Have you asked?"

Roganda's desperation had aged her a decade. The birth of her son several months ago had been long and difficult. She'd lost a great deal of blood. On that day, Luke had received one of his most distasteful assignments to date. He'd visited a local medcentre and procured a male child that had been born with a fatal heart condition from the morgue. It had only been dead for an hour and its body was still limp. They knew Roganda needed to see a body. He was the one who had had told her that the son had died.

Still, she didn't believe them.

Luke sighed. "He doesn't know what day it is today."

"If he dies it will be too late. I'll never know what happened to my son."

"You _do_ know," he replied gently. The temptation to tell her the truth was strong. Once the Emperor was gone, when the time was right, Luke would bring her son out of hiding. Then she would become a powerful ally.

"I don't believe you," she said, under breath.

Luke watched her walk away with her head lowered and wondered how much of her current state was an act. If Roganda had somehow managed to poison the Emperor without his knowing, she was more powerful than he had ever imagined. Never underestimate the wrath of a mother separated from her child. He would keep an eye on her for the time being.


	13. Chapter 13

**~12~**

He was late again.

Leia ordered a glass of turquoise beer which she knew from previous experience tasted like a home-made cleaning solution. The bar was grungy and hot and everyone sought to look tough. It was best not to sit empty-handed. Beside her, a reptilian alien made sucking gestures with his inner gums and tongue. She rolled her eyes away in disgust and cleared her throat loudly. After a recent bout of Cardooine Chills, she still sported a touch of chest cough and the smoke from cigarillos and spice wasn't helping. One of the never-described joys of interplanetary travel was picking up every minor illness that the inhabitants passed around. She had been inoculating herself against most, but some just had to be had once. With any luck, a good coughing fit would make her would-be-suitor think she was contagious.

A flash of red drew her attention to the flat Holonet screen anchored on the lustreless grey wall behind the bartender. A newscaster was busily reporting that in the early morning hours, the Imperial Ruling Council, in a secret vote of non-confidence, had voted that Emperor Palpatine was suffering from dementia as well as an undisclosed serious illness and no longer fit to serve the Empire. With the support of both the Imperial Senate and the Coalition of Grand Moffs, power had been quietly transferred to an interim committee made up of Palpatine's key advisors and top military personnel.

In the news clip, her unmasked brother walked alongside Grand Vizier Sate Pestage, Sarcev Quest and Chief Advisor Ars Dangor. Her heart pounded and an icy chill passed through her. All around her, patrons began cheering and clapping.

_Idiots_, she thought. _Oh stars..._

Just then, Han Solo fell onto the adjoining stool and slipped his fingers around her ankle.

"You're late," she grumbled distractedly.

"Better late than never." He leaned over and kissed her cheek. "I like the new look. I almost didn't recognize you."

A tiny but potent thrill zipped through her body but she was too disturbed to enjoy it. As part of her latest effort to blend in with the spacer riff-raff, Leia had chopped her hair to just below her shoulders and dyed it dark violet. Her eyes were heavily smudged with kohl. She angled her thumb toward the Holovid screen, pausing to observe that he wore faded spacer's clothes and a wide a gunbelt curled unevenly like a snake around his hips. "Have you seen this?"

"I heard when I dropped out of hyper." He lowered his voice. "There've been rumours for months about Palpatine's health. Can't claim I'm surprised. He's looked to be on death's door for as long as I can remember."

Of course, Han wouldn't know that Palpatine was Force sensitive. He wouldn't know that Palpatine used the Force to keep himself alive. She set a hand on his thigh and leaned closer so that no one would overhear them. "I just saw Luke on the news reel. He's part of the interim coalition."

"Any promises of an election?"

"Not that I've seen so far."

"Wonderful," Han muttered between gritted teeth. "What the galaxy desperately needs is another psychotic dictator. Or two. Or four." He shifted and stroked his chin as a new thought occurred to him. "This is going to wreak havoc on the galactic markets. As much as I hate Palpatine, the longevity of his government has inspired a certain sense of economic stability."

Leia frowned.

"Don't worry; it'll be great for the black market, smugglers in particular." Han stole a swallow from her beer and made a disgusted face. "The more the Empire tightens its grip, the more valuable your cargo will become."

"I wasn't worried about that..." She hesitated. "Besides, what about weapons manufacturers?"

"We'll be flush beyond our wildest dreams. Everyone stocks up on firepower when there's a whiff of political instability."

That made sense. Leia digested the information with a grim nod.

They made small talk for a time until the Aqualish beer had disappeared. Finally, Han reached over and ran his thumb across her lower lip. He had that look again, as though he was a man who'd been released from prison or a teenager, as though she was a reprieve from his day-to-day life. "Should we blow this joint and find something more fun to do?"

"Yes, but just one second." She hopped down off the stool and glared at the reptilian humanoid to her right whose puckered tongue had been offending her for far too long. She withdrew her vibroblade and hissed, "Do that one more time and you're not going to have anything left to flap around. Understand?"

The humanoid's green scales flushed golden. It slurped his tongue back into his mouth and chattered apologetically. "No trouble, no trouble."

Han curled his lips in lopsided amusement as he followed her into one of _The Wheel's_ long transport tubes.

_The Wheel_ was aptly named. A space station located in the Besh Gorgon system, it had a long central axis with hundreds of docking bays that sat atop a series of massive engines. Four long tubes protruded from the axis and provided access to a circular observation deck and enclosed city. At any given moment up to one hundred thousand lived onboard. A myriad of lifeforms, mainly humans, came from all over the galaxy to try their luck at the casinos and trade on the black market.

Leia stopped at a series of shiny flickering lockers built into the wall and withdrew an oversized brown satchel. She'd docked the _Spirit_ at a cheaper off-station buoy and taken public transport over to the hub. The primary docking bays were expensive and reserved for _The Wheel's_ wealthier clientele – Han could easily afford them and she couldn't. Also, her smuggling compartments were jammed to the hilts with a chak-root shipment destined for Tatooine and her starboard hold contained three bacta tanks. She wasn't familiar with custom procedures or scanners on the space station and didn't want her ship to appear as though it had anything valuable on board.

"Where to?" she asked.

"The Luxury Towers at the North Pole of the station."

Leia set her hand on her hip, feeling prickly and paranoid after the newsflash despite the plain evidence that her brother was otherwise occupied on the other side of the galaxy. "You call that avoiding attention?"

"Why not spend a few credits?" he asked. "I have them and I like to spend them."

"You don't need to impress me."

"I like to impress _me_. Don't worry." Han held up his hand. "I used an old name and I paid in cash."

She rolled her eyes and reluctantly followed him toward the nearest skytube. They were virtually untraceable but she couldn't stop worrying. During their clandestine meetings, if they needed to be shipside, they stayed on the _Spirit_ but more often than not, they chose nondescript, mid-budget accommodations. They sent each other encrypted transmissions under aliases. The money she transferred to him each month in payment for the _Spirit_ was sent from a numbered account to another numbered account. Even Jasod didn't know.

No sooner had the skytube doors sealed behind them then Han seized her and kissed her, very roughly. Today he was a man starved for touch and pleasure. His fingers pulled at her clothes deliberately until the seams bit into her skin and she heard the rip of linen beneath her armpit. Abruptly, he let her go and she half-fell, half-relaxed against the thick windows.

In a voice several octaves lower than normal, he said, "I spent half the flight here imagining different ways to fuck you and make you come."

All she could do was swallow reflexively because the notion that a grown man had flown several hundred light years across the galaxy to hear the sound of her moaning thrilled her. "Well, I made six jumps in twelve hours to make it here on time."

"Yeah?" Han relaxed against the transparisteel and folded his arms across his chest. "I once made twenty-three in thirty-nine."

"Then you win."

The skytube slowed and the doors slid open. Leia followed him into a long horizontal tube that ended at a heavy, steel, numberless door. Han slid a hotel datacard through a computerized card-slot.

Leia stepped inside the room and set her satchel and jacket on the floor. The room was pristine and simply furnished but the view was spectacular. Deep space twinkled ominously outside but the system's primary star, Besh Gorgon was radiant.

Han stepped up behind her and pulled her shirt up over her head. She saw that indeed, the fabric of the armpit had been torn at the seam. Lips and teeth grazed the skin along the back of her neck. The shiver of anticipation that had been building between her legs released itself and jolted up her spine. Leia took a sharp breath and released a soft noise that sounded as though she'd just had the oxygen forced from her lungs.

"Time to get naked," he whispered.

* * *

Later, as they lay in a ball on the bed, Leia had to remind herself that they were lovers who met every few weeks and that they didn't owe each other anything besides the moment. It usually helped her resolve if she didn't look at him afterward.

Three months ago, when he had showed up at the outpost on Junction V, she'd been shocked into a stupor. _I can't stop thinking about you_, he had said and offered to buy her dinner. After she'd recovered from the shock of seeing him again, she'd smiled a touch seductively and said, _seriously Captain. Did you think you could show up here, buy me dinner and I'd make a mad dash for your bed_? Han had flexed his hands and confessed that he'd anticipated a little more finesse on his part, but essentially, yes.

In the end, naturally he'd been right.

It was past midday on the station's cycle when Han sat up on his elbows, looking dishevelled and devilishly adorable. "Let's get out of this room. We can go to dinner. Hit up the _Grand Casino_. Play a few hands of Sabacc."

Leia mulled it over for a moment. The bed had its appeal but it would still be here in a few hours. "All right."

* * *

It took Leia one hour to master the bare essentials of Sabacc and then she won six thousand credits during the next.

Over the last several years, she had spent countless hours practicing rudimentary Force skills in the privacy of her apartment, trying to improve her senses and manipulate still objects. She'd met with small successes, but for the most part, in private the Force often felt unruly and perpetually just out of reach. It had always been easier when her brother was her focal point. At the gaming tables, her opponents were so focused on their expressions that they left their inside feelings open to the nearest observer. She didn't need to know what cards they held, just whether they were excited, hopeful, frustrated or slightly frantic. With that insight alone, she was able to double or hedge her bets with precise accuracy.

Han was impressed. He obviously fancied himself a true Sabacc player and told her that several years ago he'd won a ship. They retreated to one of the curtained Sabacc alcoves where pairs of casino bigwigs could play and entertain unobserved. The chairs were large enough that all sorts of species could sprawl and share their laps with their companions. Han purchased a bottle of fizzy, fruity wine with gold flecks in it that cost nearly a thousand credits.

He said, "Either you have a strategy I can't figure out or you're having an incredible streak of beginner's luck. Or you lied. You played at the _Ridge_ with the gang."

"Never."

"Jasod?"

"No." She smiled mysteriously and sipped from her glass. The wine was sweet and burned the back of her throat, yet in small sips it was surprisingly addictive. "I'm _very_ good at paying attention to details."

"And I'm a Gamorrean in disguise." He looked like he though she was pulling a fast one on him. "C'mon. You can tell me your secret."

Leia shrugged her shoulders and rearranged the skirts of her flimsy silver dress. A man like Han would probably panic if she explained exactly what it was she _could_ feel. Or perhaps he had experimented with drugs like glitterstim, and knew how it felt to have a shared experience. Even when she longed to hate Luke, even when she had gone to his bed determined to be cold and steel, he had wielded his abilities against her so devotedly that she couldn't refuse him. "A man intoxicated by the game is not so different from a man in the throes of passion," she said simply.

"Can you read my mind?"

She shook her head. "Some men are easier to feel out than others. Most assuredly, you are not one of them." Luke had been a constant exception.

"You could make a lot of money playing the tables."

"I suppose I could," she said noncommittally, ignoring the twinge guilt that passed through her conscience. It hadn't been her intention to cheat the other players – she had discovered that purely accidentally. However, she did need the credits and most of the players here tonight were morally bankrupt in one way or another. The possibilities, depending on how she handled them, were intriguing.

He reached over and stroked her cheek absent-mindedly. "Lando won an entire city once. He sold it after a few years and used the profits to buy the weapons business on Coruscant. It's beautiful. We should go sometime. You'd like it. They have a few casinos."

Leia was trying to think of a way to say yes without sounding overly eager when his comlink began buzzing. "Is that what I think it is?" She slapped at his pocket. Comlinks had a range of about fifty kilometres. "Who would you know here on _The Wheel_?"

"Nobody." He keyed in a secured code. "It's a notification signal from the Holonet receiver onboard the _Rrakktor_. It's letting me know I just had an incoming message."

"That's an expensive transmission if it's coming for Coruscant."

"I doubt it's anything important," he reassured her. "It's probably Lando with final details for my meeting tomorrow." As part of Han's cover, each of their rendezvous coincided with a business meeting for _Calrissian-Solo Munitions Inc_. "Thought about how you're going to spend your winnings?"

"Not yet." Her thoughts lingered on the idea of a Holonet receiver and transmitter, but the pair would cost at least ten times her winnings. "The _Spirit_ could use demagnetized shields for the smuggling compartments."

"Worried about the_ Imperial Security Bureau_?"

Demagnetized shields were especially useful for hiding the energy signatures of radioactive weapons.

"Hm. I hope not, but one never knows." She arched an eyebrow. "A spacer girl can dream, can't she?"

"I hope you're not smuggling weapons." Han crinkled his eyes worriedly. "You're still small time. You don't have the experience to deal with the risks involved."

It seemed prudent to refrain from mentioning that her latest shipment was bound for a Hutt named Jabba. "I'll take your concerns under advisement Captain." Through a crack in the curtains, a Holonet screen showed a replay of the day's top political story. "Not to change the subject so abruptly-" She pointed behind him. "-but I still can't believe it."

Han craned his neck to see. "Which part?"

"All of it."

For the second time that day, Leia watched her brother's figure move across the screen. Han noticed him too - he reached back and pinched the curtains together.

Had it really been so long since she'd left Coruscant, since Luke had announced that she was to relocate to the Imperial Palace and abandon her performances at the Manarai? Palpatine had always maintained that she would betray her brother, but maybe her brother had seen her as a means to gather information within the walls of the palace and help him gain the advantage. Perhaps the Emperor had assumed that if she lived within the palace walls, Luke would be easier to manipulate. In retrospect, she would have been at the center of their power play and trusted neither of them. She shook herself gently. "I imagine this is what my brother has wanted all along."

"Power?"

"The _idea_ of power." What he would do with it once he had obtained it was another story.

"Maybe this means he's too preoccupied to look for you."

"I wish I could believe that."

"But you don't."

"You don't know him." Leia scraped her fingernail against a fleck of sand fused onto the base of the glass. "If I could have brought myself to kill him when I had the chance..."

Han opened his mouth, closed it, and then opened it again. "It's not an easy thing to kill in cold blood."

She didn't dare ask. "Han." She stretched her hand across the table slipped her fingers inside the cuff of his sleeve. His skin was warm and soft. "Tell me about the time you made twenty-three jumps in thirty-nine hours."

"Hm. I was carrying very special cargo and trying to avoid any Imperial checkpoints."

"Spice?"

"Semi-sentient carnivorous plants from Ithor."

She braved another sip of wine with her free hand. "You're joking."

"I'm not, I swear."

"And could they actually talk?" she asked curiously.

"If they could, I didn't hear them. They spent the flight locked in one of the cargo holds. When their handlers brought them onboard, they looked harmless – fuzzy, red-barked trees about the size of a man, with roots all balled up at the base. The horticulturist told me they'd just been fed and sedated and wouldn't wake up until we reached our destination, but later, when I looked through the portal, their roots smashed against the glass. Either they were still hungry, or they'd miscalculated the amount of sedatives needed to knock out a tree. After that, the racket never stopped. We could hear them beating against the metal from the cockpit. We thought they were going to break the hatch down and come after us."

She set her drink down on the table with a clunk. "What happened?"

"Well, I plotted the fastest route I could, drank about fifty cups of stim-caf and showed up at the drop site fifteen hours early. The contacts weren't happy about it, but my co-pilot manned the belly gun and kept the cannons on them. We threatened to jump into the atmosphere and space the trees if they didn't get them off my ship right away."

Leia watched shadows scatter across his profile as he shifted his head. She slipped her hand further along his inner arm until he grasped her wrist. "I still don't believe you but I'll give you points for the story."

"Points? Sweetheart, it's all fact."

"This was back when you were flying with your Wookiee co-pilot."

"Yeah."

"How did they get them off your ship if they were ready to eat the first thing that opened the cargo hatch?"

"They _ate _the first thing that opened the cargo hatch – only it wasn't us. After that, they were as docile as pittens. Hm. What else did Bracha tell you about me?"

Leia cursed softly. She'd inadvertently brought up a lead-in to topics better left alone. As an unspoken rule, he never asked about Bracha and she never asked about his wife. That meant he didn't know she had ended it with Bracha and left the _Ridge_.

Bracha had taken it very hard. Burning brightly in his eyes, veiled beneath the crags of scars, had been an all too familiar pain.

"He said that you could charm or seduce any woman in a dozen a star systems. I resisted my impulse to correct him. It was extremely difficult."

Han roared with laughter. "You're hot. Very sexy. I meant what I said about the new look."

Leia fervently wished she were drunk enough to tell him that he belonged with her out amidst the stars. Only she wasn't and couldn't afford to be. Instead she pulled him closer to her and leaned across the table. "Kiss me."


End file.
